Chloe

There were skies onyx at night... moons by day...

lakes pale as her eyes... breathless winds

undressing tall elms... she would say

that we loved, but some book said we'd sinned.

Soon impatiens too fiery to stay

sagged; the crocus bells drooped, golden-limned;

things of brightness, rinsed out, ran to gray...

all the light of that world softly dimmed.

Where our feet were inclined, we would stray;

there were paths where dead weeds stood untrimmed,

distant mountains that loomed in our way,

thunder booming down valleys dark-hymned.

What I found, I found lost in her face

by yielding all my virtue to her grace.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly as "A Dying Fall"

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

First love in the words of an old soul. This is beautifully writ.

[Michael R. Burch]

Thanks, I'm glad you liked my poem.