Marble Statues
By Barddylbach
I dreamt of marble statues in the rain
adorning marble hills and clouded sky,
their pale grey mottled faces perfect plain
amidst poplar and crowded ivy lie.
Once smooth now weathered brow how weary frown,
a den of reeds where lonely bittern boom,
marsh flute chasing linnet on the down
to catch the thief in wedded silence groom.
I feel the cold upon her marble cheek,
misty shroud, sweet dewdrops through her hair,
raven squawk about her naked shoulder meek
and wild, gazing into heaven’s godly lair.
For they, who shall not live beneath the cloud
and they, who shall not walk in wooded vale,
anointed not by birth nor earth made proud
and speak of but in death defiant dwell.
Yes they, who never found that place of rest,
remember not their sorrow, sombre brace
once loved; beloved no more in marble blessed
and adoration, tempered troubles cease.
In autumn sandals, on auburn hilltop leaves,
patched and quilted sleeves of borrowed bliss,
supple sambar lips such as a dreamer weaves
dawn to dusk, and secrets kindled with a kiss.
