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Even the dust dances on mellow tunes,
Like glitter of gold under the yellow lamp,
How even the most plain prose
Gets the sparkle of poetry
If heard from the right person,
Or said in the right way?
How the very water of an enchanted lake
Was the rain befallen on the drying rose.
Those clouds in shades of ink,
Carrying a love letter to Gaya from the heavens above,
Soon to quench her scorching thirst.
The very golden, blazing sun shine
Joy of the honeysuckles blooming,
And misery of the jasmines,
Bading their lover in the dark, a sad good bye.
The very morning haze and mist,
Lavender for some, and for some- grey.
Alas, to the right eyes,
Everything is a beautiful omen!
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Cottage Chronicles
PoetryLife's chronicles from love, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, happiness buried in a poetic cipher. Would you like some words and wine, on wooden floorboards? ©️ Feronia Grey
