The Beholder

My Mistress' eyes are nothing like the Sun

Though from them I see brighter

Her flesh not strong nor lush with youth

her hold not firm nor light 


Her presence is the wind that howls, 

on salty brine washed shore

She is such stuff in all its form,


no less, no more


Though gentler vestiges bestowed

fall easy on the ear

My mistress' eyes cast dull by time

for me are ever clear


A Child was born ►


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Wolfgar Miere

Mon 11th Jan 2016 08:20

An attempt, at least.

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Sun 10th Jan 2016 17:12

A polite tipping of the hat to the Bard.

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