Island of Song

Afar I row a little boat,
An island of song and show;
Ashore I leave a nighttime note
Of footsteps laid below.
 
For now it drizzles mist ahead,
Mixed in with dark night green;
I walk a path where willows tread,
A painted river scene.
 
I open the door and see a room
Of skirts in red and plum;
With girls a-sway and arms abloom,
The beating of a drum.
 
I watch until my bottle goes,
The noise will leave us soon;
Outside a child unfolds a rose,
Her soul beneath moon.

Idle Spring

Today no toll in work or soul
As spring is green with ease;
In Central Park I make my mark
To see the cherry trees.
 
A bird lets out its welcome shout
Beneath the building glass;
The wind lets bare a woman’s hair
In lovely, flowing mass.
 
I know the moon will come out soon,
For now the sun’s on track;
I gaze at bluffs with cherry puffs,
Unwilling to go back.

Subscribe to RSS - iambic trimeter