One Meadow

What distance does the meadow grant when o’er its lay the anvil sounds in single hammered pings?
What journey does this plea incant as from this village home and ground the smithy’s hammer sings?


Such bliss is this sweet pealing kiss of home and all I love.
Yea! My heart, in longing start, carries on the wind as dove.

For there my sweet, in song’s repeat, sings to my soul and to my mind,
that I may soon return to her and in our cottage garden find
her blushing in her quiet song,
singing soft and singing long.

Rapture! Cross this meadow long that carries length upon my stride,
as coursers swift in covenant, will bound me home unto my bride.

Till there upon the garden gate, my longing will no longer wait!
Unto my arms, in blushing charms, our hearts and souls in bliss,
witnessed by the meadow’s cheer, held in love’s eternal kiss!

… beyond it all, a simple call is carried on the wings
of anvil sounds cross meadow’s grounds, whereon the smithy’s hammer sings.

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Filed under Poetry, True Love

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