The Bride of StormA Poem by David Lewis PagetThe storm was raging within, he thought, Not out in the trees and fields, It must have strayed in his mouth, and caught His throat, for the breath it yields, He sat himself on a wayward bench Composed his thunderous sighs, And caught a glimpse of a passing wench With slumbering, lustrous eyes. She had auburn hair, and a face so fair She had dimples set in her cheeks, She walked the snow in an afterglow Of the first snowfall for weeks. He’d sat so long and the storm was strong As he waited the snow to melt, She kicked the flurries of snow along In the inward storm he felt. Her eyes were a vivid lightning flash That lit up his restless mind, Her footsteps, more of a thunder crash At his heart, but more unkind, Her smile revealed her perfect teeth Like a line of pure white stones, Or headstones, laid in a cemetery Like some bleached and ageing bones. Her auburn hair was a-twist out there All twirled like a plaited bun, It seemed to fly in his storm-wracked sky Blotting the morning sun, Then as she passed, she looked in his eyes And she saw the hail and sleet, And caught her breath like a glimpse of death Or the end of life, complete. He stood, and held out his hand to her And she halted in her stride, Opened her mouth, and thunder clapped And he felt it crash inside, ‘Nothing you say will draw me in It would only do me harm, If I should wed, it wouldn’t be To you, as the Bride of Storm.’ David Lewis Paget
© 2016 David Lewis PagetReviews
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5 Reviews Added on April 18, 2016 Last Updated on April 18, 2016 Tags: wench, snowfall, headstones, plaited Author
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