Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Bookends


So much like her hands, sure against the cares of this world.

Even as the wind loves daffodils, and snow falls in letters home.

See the miles in her hair.

How rough the cross, yet sweet the song.

One day, to have read them all.

And known the ghosts that seek this room.

Love. Are you listening?

They make no mournful sound.




12 comments:

Bitch said...

There is sadness in your poem..
Sweet and sad, both!

Have a happy spring!!!

William Michaelian said...

Yes, ’tis so. Happy spring, Monika!

Paul L. Martin said...

A beautiful companion to the picture you posted the other day of your study. Favorite line: "As the wind loves daffodils, and snow falls in letters home."

I could live out the day in that line, William.

Jan said...

Touching, and very beautiful, William~~~

William Michaelian said...

Paul, that’s wonderful to hear. Thank you. And what you say about the words going with the picture makes perfect sense, as this is where they were composed, over, say, the last thousand years. Or so it feels.

Thanks very much, Jan. I’m pleased you find it so.

Aleksandra said...

Happy spring William.

William Michaelian said...

Happy spring, Aleksandra.

manik sharma said...

Will,
A brilliant piece on the first day of spring...thank you for this

Geckostone said...

Wow, this is beautiful William! Deb

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, Manik.

Thank you, too, Deb.

nouvelles couleurs - vienna atelier said...

find simply touching

William Michaelian said...

I’m glad, Laura. Thank you.