Archive for March 5th, 2007


Sarabande of the Solstices, a poem

Just trying something a little different here. Nothing very profound; just an exercise in rhyme and meter. Comments and criticism always welcome.

Summer danced in gladdened fields,
A maiden fair,
With auburn hair,
Robed in light, the sun to wield

To suit her will. She blessed the land
With raiment green.
A virgin queen
She was. To none she gave her hand.

For she preferred to dance alone
A soaring dove
Of light and love,
Adored by all, but on her own.

Summer’s warmth Lord Winter felt,
A lover ardent,
Bedecked in argent,
With shining diamonds in his belt.

And as he grew to love the maid,
One day he dared,
With heart ensnared,
Before her feet his love he laid.

But none of him would Summer have.
Afar he called
By love enthralled.
To him her heart she never gave.

For love did not within her burn.
Forever free
She wished to be,
With love to give, but not return.

But Summer green would not be swayed.
As he advanced
Away she danced.
Between the two a void she made.

So Winter watched from far away
Sweet Summer’s joy,
The world her toy,
To love and play in as she may.

Aflame with love he duly swore
That Summer bright
And Winter white
Would rule as one forever more.

Blood red rubies in her hair,
And yellow gems
Upon her hems
He gave to Summer for her to wear.

At last she yielded, and thus she found
Her garments bright
Of woven light
At her feet upon the ground.

The light of jewels possessed her mind
The sun she gave
To Winter grave
Earth lost her queen and sadly pined.

She heard the earth forlornly cry.
She shed her jewels,
Their weight now cruel,
And with the Earth lay down to die.

And Winter wept above her bones.
He had to see
That it was he
Who would remain and rule alone.

Stephen P. Smith

taking up a glowing cinder with the tongs and lighting with it the long cherry-wood pipe which was wont to replace his clay when he was in a disputatious rather than a meditative mood" ~ Dr. John H. Watson ************************
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