Afore The Cockerel Crows

3 stanzas of apparition

Who is this muse before me stood?
I know her not, I say.
A temperate stirring of the blood,
I bid her go away.
Her seducing, warm, pacific smile,
The shining in her eye;
I watch her handsome form a while
And yet, her I deny.

I took, once more, a further glance
Affirming what I thought.
A glowing, flowing, countenance
Upon mine eyes here brought.
I bid her go, a second time,
Yet, still, she must remain
Sparkling in the morning rime
Be gone, I say again.

I close my eyes and hope to see
Her off before I wake.
An angel come to beckon me
And for my soul to take.
My eyes are opened, looking on,
Aroused from my repose ~
I'd surely bid her thrice begone
Afore the cockerel crows.  

Reviews

[Carlos Lorenzo Estrada]

This poem exudes a classic style of composition that draws me in. And weaves me into its alluring tale. Excellent write Alan. Thank you for sharing your poem with us.

[Alan S Jeeves]

You really are too kind Carlos, I am so pleased that you enjoyed 'Afore The Cockerel Crows'. Kind regards, Alan

[Red Brick Keshner]

Three times lucky, as has been heard oft enough before. Felt like a busy pre-dawn. Thanks for sharing.

[Alan S Jeeves]

Hi Frederick, thanks for looking in today, I appreciate it. Kind regards, Alan

[Red Brick Keshner]

Most welcome, Alan. Am delighted in the verse you have put up here. Frederick.