General Poetry posted November 2, 2017

This work has reached the exceptional level
A tip of my hat to my ancestral homes with nostalgic love.

Across The Silver Flow

by easyeverett1

A lonely solitary sound
With voice still young and yet profound
Floats light across a mountain stream,
Her song an echo in a dream.

No Nightingale has ever pined as sweet
Nor made me feel so wondrously complete..

Such plaintive strains of purity
Enrapture like a symphony.
No springtime trill of whippoorwill
Can touch so much my weary will.

Nor can it shine as bright a healing light
That makes me feel my burdens taking flight.

No Sirens of exotic seas,
Heard off the Southern Hebrides,
Could lift so high my troubled soul
Or fill it full so joyous whole.

She sings in Highland Gaelic, lost to me,
But not the beauty of the melody.

Yet language lost does not affect
My love for ancient dialect.
And now across the silver flow
I see her face flushed all aglow.

She sees me standing here a bit amiss,
Then smiles and throws me one sweet blissful kiss.


Written in iambic tetrameter quatrains followed by an iambic pentameter couplet. And no, I had no affair with the young
lass because I tripped on the root of a Scottish Scotch-root
tree as I was chasing her down and this was right after I had tripped running through that damn mountain stream. So by the time I was back on my feet the beautiful phantom muse of the
mountain was long gone leaving me soaking wet and once again totally humiliated.

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