In the anticipated commemoration of a lovely daydream of unrealized circumstances,
A picnic
"What is our picnic-lunch?" asked me the fair
Young lass (she far out-dazzles clear Sun-rays
In my poor eyes) "and where that magpie stays,
Marks he our place to sit, by Spanish Stair?"
"For you, dear friend, poached eggs and Camembert ---
Some millions love meringues, some Holandaise:
Most swear by devil'ds on these hot Sundays.
For you, they're poached --- wool picnic-blanket. There!"
Tall stood a shady poplar overhead,
Great lions' hand-fed vestige prowled about.
My cara's hat upon the blanket set,
Earth's turning turned 'till Sunlight her locks met;
No amber shot with gold so rich shone out!
As her's, glory is all God's, reflected.
I dare to hope you might have had as lovely a time as I surely would.
northern morpheus
Part of Word and Question
6 comments:
+JMJ+
Oh, a sonnet! =D
And now I'm hungry for eggs! =P I doubt I'd poach them very well, though . . .
You weren't expecting intelligent critique, now were you? ;-)
wow! Impressive!
You are too kind :-)
It's a delight to see my question get turned into this lovely poem!
I'm glad to know it was yours; Enbrethiliel seems to have got my question herself --- and did nicely with it, too.
And it was fun to think of, too, although, like yourself, I don't think I really directly answer it.
E., is that OK, by the rules? (are you here?)
+JMJ+
I think it's okay! And going by the source material, a rule bender or two seems expected.
(To be more specific, there was a character who drew the word "Unfeeling" and substituted it with the phrase "don't feel" in her poem. But now that I recall that, I also remember that our main character warned the group that there would be penalties in the future for such transgressions. I'm not like that, however . . .)
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