#452906 added September 5, 2006 at 4:21pm Restrictions: None
A Sign of Love
His vision fixed on the mantelshelf,
the poet had struck his midnight twelve,
his words ended in monstrous sorrow,
hope locked up by the witch of tomorrow.
Ghost of a dove, snowy white,
a faraway love, within his sight,
came to rescue his nouns and verbs,
like worn-out clothes and scentless herbs.
An image sublime, subtle to the eye,
magical beauty, faint as a sigh.
The dove touched him as if to bless,
the poet picked his pen, a caress.
Through the words arched in a rainbow,
the lines of verse could flow and glow.
The poet raised his head to thank the ghost,
he saw the first rays of dawn and frost,
etched in the windowpane, but not the dove,
who had inspired him with her love.
Poet’s heart was certain of a blessing,
her spirit of beauty, he wasn’t guessing.
He thought of the woman he once knew,
who was added to the angelic few.
He reached his window and looked above.
and thanked Heaven for her sign of love.
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