The Heart's Reply to the Shepherd
(A response to Christopher Marlowe's 'The Passionate Shepard to his love')
Despite all things thou hath offered,
Mine own heart doth not grow softer.
Speak now of thy heart's desires,
Where’s thy lust of feverish fires?
What then when the sheep are gone
And birds no longer bring forth song?
Thine own words are all I need
Upon my ears by whispers heed.
What then when thy roses wilt?
Wrinkles of time possess and jilt.
Promises barren with intent,
Lacking all thy loves consent.
What then when the night draws near?
Deep in my soul there is fear
Begging for a simple embrace;
A gentle understanding face.
What then when the world is quiet?
Alone but for intentions riot
Slowly building beneath composure,
Passions torrent is taking over.
If thou wish to be my love
Speak from within and not above.
But do so now before it’s late
For I shall not be one to wait.
You can take the girl out of Vermont...
The wind twirls a pile of leaves
Reminding her of simpler times.
The brick buildings around her
Fog into the mountains of her memories,
A land with softer ground
And kinder faces.
She waits for the bus
As the wind chills her bones,
But not in the sweet way
The morning used to greet her.
It bounces from tall building to tall building
Gaining aimless speed
Until it billows by without a hello.
A single leaf clings to her foot
As if it wants her to save it
From the endless wanderers on these hard streets.
She smiles at it
as if to say, "me too."