Memories by the Campfire - Poetry©

I wander through the hills of summer gold
To sort my thoughts and clear my cluttered mind
The sun entraps me in it's magic hold
It filters through the mossy covered pine
Laughter fills the warm and clinging air
I laugh with them "til all my spirits climb
Love is all around us everywhere
Transporting us into another time
To lie beneath the shadow of a tree
With memories that age cannot rescind
To fill our souls with longing to be free
To soar among the children of the wind.

I haunt the echoes of your heart
Though trusting not the warmth it lent
Enwrapped in fear and malcontent
I could not stay yet would not part.

We sit side by side in the quiet of the darkened room watching the flames flicker in the distant fireplace and the sounds of music filter in through the silence painting an echo of the past on your face.

The sun shines in through frosted panes and in weeping silence stares blankly out as a stranger intruding a guest-filled house, or a returning to a once loved place.

I greet thee through the morning mist, and silver shines the sun.
The early rose by dew beads kissed, a new day just begun
A robin's cry, a lullaby, the day is o'er too soon
And slowly over garden walls in quiet, creeps the moon

I love thee not for friendship's sake
Nor yet forgotten give and take
I harken not to hue and cry
Or under tender summer sky
But what I say and think and do
Reflect the touch and thought of you

Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary,
in your garden small
With all your flowers, can you say
you have no weeds at all?
What magic power do you hold,
What strange unheard of deed
Could ever make your garden grow
without a single weed?

My garden, too, was full of flowers
parading row on row,
And every other kind of think
that nature helps to grow
But sprays and hoes, nor rakes nor fires,
could stem their growing stride
The weeds grew hardier day by day,
The flowers it was that died.

Oh Hapless heart, How may we do
To Halt the Phoenix flight
For I in Thee and me with you
Are half way through the night

Perhaps it cannot countermand
The things in twos or fours
Or yet refuse to understand
Except the out of doors
But I in me alas must cry
For yet another day
For it and else forbid deny
To quickly slip away

Sweet blue mist of the butterfly wing
Flitting across the summer sky
You help my wearied spirits sing
And never stop to reason why.

Gentle is the night to those who dream and in their dreaming see the hope of things to come. For in their hearts a child still lives with eyes shut tight to wish upon a star and in that heart their dreams come true.

There is a ghost called loneliness
that dwells within these walls
He rattles at the window panes
and natters at the walls
His cries are like the gentle wind
his trail a swirl of dust
He dwells in scents of memory
Forgetfulness and Must.
This ghost and I are friends of old
He's oft beside me lay
He tagged along on country walks
Or joined me in my play
But when we sit together
In Quiet interlude
I'm filled with peace and full content
The Ghost cannot intrude. 

Come away, so far away,
where misty breezes blow.
Come away my love
and we'll pick lilies in the snow.

Come with me where
Dreams are made, Where
moonlit fires glow
Come and be with me my love
'Midst Lilies in the snow.

Come into my heart, my love, for you are free to go
And yet will I be with you
Picking Lilies in the snow.

Deep in the heart of the mountain, Breezes caress stone-wrought pipes which blend their moans of solitude with the night. Whispering dust motes of the dark, like rustling petticoats of a sun-bronzed maid as she wends her way to meet with love in the shadows of an ancient tomb.

And thus the swan in snowy splendor glided to the center of the lake: His life an imagery of beauty. Sang he, then left he off for mercy's sake for death was his and he was done with love. And yet with dignity did he forsake the precious life t'was his alone and in his passing go we also in his silent wake