SONNET NO 3 by Deepak Menon

A dryad of the Forest on a wooded mountain’s crest
Flicking in and out of the shadows of autumn leaves
A magic fleeting glimpse of dappled dreams blest
By the hand of the Creator for whom eternity grieves
. Was the love I yearned through troubled times and good
. Was the sound of a voice long gone into yesterday’s bed
. Was the being of a golden smile carved in hardened wood
. For which again and anon my dispirited heart bled
Till ensanguined it became as the pale horse of death
And the wine turned vintage and dried into grey ash
While the vessel crumbling did scream out the threat
To eject the dying spirit in one great blinding flash
. ‘Twas then that like rain from the sky – thy falling tears
. On my upturned face – gave life for the coming years.

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