I strayed outside, and 'neath a tree-
I found a painting just for me.
A painting of the one I love.
A frame made of gold filigree.
In oils of purple and of blue-
Smiling at me, the face of you!
And in each eye, there did reside-
A lovely cast of greener hue.
Rememb'ring now, the times we shared;
The foreign trips, the way we cared.
My handpicked rose, your lovely prose-
The first time that at me you stared.
Then suddenly you disappear.
And in this frame, there is no smear-
Of blessed paint, martyr or saint.
Thus revealing my oldest fear.
The love we had, had never been.
My loneliness is my worst sin.
I am alone, and should have known-
My only love died way back when.
Two hundred years or more have passed-
Since your legend words first were massed,
Since your smile owned its own style;
Your themes macabre so lovely cast.
So rest in peace my painted prince.
Your raven has lived ever since,
Your blessed pen, did first begin-
To weave tales of death and suspense. |
Submission Name: In Love with a Dead Poet
