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Blackbairne Hill
| Open Poetry #40 |
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Blackbairne Hill |
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Spike Daft Junior Member
since 2006-09-12
Posts 23CA, USA |
Hello again, all! Sorry for the absence; I've been quite ill. Can't wait to catch up on some great poems! In the meantime, I figured I'd post one I found in my archive... Blackbairne Hill When the moon is a diamond in the jet-black sky and the breeze is calm and still And the trees are dark and sleeping like the robins on the sill, I can feel the cycle of the night like the turning blades upon the mill; I can hear the songs the night-things play upon sweet Blackbairne Hill. The spring is immortal on the Hill; little creatures always at play, but this paradise, though constant now, saw once a much darker day. On these warm evenings I sit by the sill while the tresses of the willow sway, and remember the story of the little robin who sang the rains away... I knew once of a lass as faire as the spring with a fall of auburn hair She would meet the Sun on Blackbairne Hill and take him dancing there. Each day he’d never fail to rise, for he knew she waited there, and they would waltz the lazy days away without a qualm or care. When winter came the Sun grew ill and faded into gray, and the sheltering leaves of the willow trees caught the wind and blew away. The lassie with the auburn hair from her place not once did stray, and she waited for her sweet Sun there, as her joy was blown away. Upon the top of Blackbairne Hill she waited for a sign, but the howling of the ceaseless wind did prove that Fate was blind. Each night she prayed with all her might, and begged it to be kind, but Fate had other plans for her within its stoic mind. And so, when the grass replaced the snow and the robin’s call was shrill, and the earth awakened from its winter sleep and the brooks were no longer still The Sun threw back his blanket gray and rushed out with a gleeful will, and found his lassie, as cold as ice- dead upon Blackbairne Hill. That was the spring I remember well, when the Sun, in deepest pain, shone not once for all the world and doused the Hill with rain. But one day, from out of this endless torrent came a robin, who bravely sang and chased the clouds from off the Hill and made the Sun smile again. The robin sat and sang of joy despite the sadness there And sang a tribute for the lass with the fall of auburn hair. He sang unto the saddened Sun and voiced a hopeful prayer that the Sun would revive the joyful Spring that loved the lassie faire. Now throughout the year the grass stays green and gentle breezes turn the mill, and children of that robin sing, their voices light and shrill. Each day I am reminded of when the Spring- and life- stood still, and when the robin brought it back upon sweet Blackbairne Hill. Grey Matter Custom Images |
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| © Copyright 2007 Andrea Weist - All Rights Reserved | |||
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trutodaraiders Senior Member
since 2006-12-02
Posts 820CA |
Andrea i am not much for ctitique..I can say this was a well done poem..Enjoyed the read |
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