Four Poems by R.S.

 

Echoes of Departure

 

The swallows fly South when harsh winds blow

But I stay here, with nowhere to go;

Wish I could be windborne and free,

Or float like driftwood out to sea.

 

The vacant boughs of willows mourn

Lamenting love's brief sojourn;

The sun leaps and drowns in the west

While this sorrow lingers in my chest.

 

Like wisps of smoke my days dissipate,

While winter's viols patiently wait

For spring to melt their frosted strings,

So the strains may soar upon love's wings.

 

As the lights flicker in the darkening sky,

I pine and ponder, heave a sigh;

Why is parting long yet love so brief,

Dwelling forever in towers of grief?

As Golden Tresses Feather Through

 

As golden tresses feather through

And gently with the wind they swerve,

They kiss the earth as they bid adieu,

To the boughs that held their joy and verve.

 

The mist that's hung low since morn,

Rises and to the boughs it clings,

Like clouds' head resting all forlorn,

On hilltops where birds rest their wings.

 

Why sombrely the eyes perceive

An auburn scene that autumn drew?

A beauty does the nature weave

As golden tresses feather through.

A Solitary Spring's Melody

 

The Tulip tree has grown new leaves,

Springtime has kissed its boughs;

Snow has forfeited the slumbering lakes

As a rift in clouds' golden ray allows.

 

The moon a pendant now resplendent,

The winds murmur and saunter by;

The misty nights hasten and flee

As tiny boats on the ocean ply.

 

All of nature sprightly and joyous,

Birdsongs reverb of the thrush and lark;

Spring has adorned each nook and crevice

Except my heart vacant and stark.

Stop all the Clocks (Title and poem inspired by W.H. Auden's poem)

 

Stop all the clocks, stop all humdrum,

Silence the warblers, their song and hum;

Bid the sun to just stand by

And the moon to remain in the starless sky.

 

He was my dusk, he was my dawn,

Stop all the clocks, now he is gone;

Quiet the hymns, the evensong,

I thought love would last, but I was wrong.

 

Stop the earth, its constant spin,

Wring the brooks, subdue the din;

Draw the blackest drapes in the sky,

Tell every star to shut its eye.

 

Cover the hills in blackest shrouds,

Unleash the rain from the darkening clouds,

Scrape the rainbow, call truth a lie;

Prepare the coffin, let me die.

R.S. resides in India and writes Poetry to find harmony in life. She graduated with Honours in English and loves to read and write poetry. She is greatly influenced and inspired by the poetry of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lord Byron, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, Pablo Neruda, W.H. Auden and William Butler Yeats to name a few. She loves nature walks and rises early to feel inspired with the morning star and create new rhymes.