Terza Rima
The mists
were coalescing from the dark,
The mists of morn, all o'er the shadow'd lake,
While spiralling above, there trilled a lark.
He stood
transfixed, within his heart an ache,
And peered and strove to pierce the morning gloam,
For any sign to point the road to take.
For nought
was left to him but that he roam,
And pay the price, no matter what the cost,
To salve the pain he'd left behind at home.
The peepers
sang to him the love he'd lost
By hasty words, a pointless, sharp remark,
His lover fled, her heart now rimed in frost.
Now as
he stood, his thoughts were bald and stark.
As pride and anguish wrestled deep within,
His boot lashed out, and scattered chips of bark.
His heart
turned cold; he swallowed his chagrin,
And strode away into the swirling mist,
Forgetting his unexpiated sin.
He wandered
heedlessly, where'er he list,
Until he chanced, one empty day, to think:
Was she, as he, a year too long unkissed?
He pondered;
set his pen, fresh dipped with ink,
To paper; and besought of her the chance
To forge anew a golden lifelong link.
With sweetest
words he would his suit advance.
Like Cupid's dart, its path an arrow'd arc,
His missive must rekindle their romance.
The mists
are coalescing from the dark,
The mists of morn, all o'er the shadow'd lake,
While spiralling above, there trills a lark.
They stand
embracing, in their hearts no ache,
And share a kiss beneath the purpling dome,
And listen to the paddling of the crake.