The Rustic Echoes

A dream of candles, gold against the night,

And breezes did whisper tales of river's flow,

When lavender bloomed in May's fluffy, gentle light,

A rustic rhythm, sweet and downy  and low.

The drummers' beat, a distant, muffled sound,

And birds did fly, though whither, none could say,

While the hills did echo with a magic bound,

And strange beasts howled, then faded far away.

No harbour's rush, nor rain's insistent plea,

But visions held, a passing, phantom show,

Of lands unseen, and wonders still  to be,

That moments danced, then softly did let go.

And as the moon, a silent watcher, rose,

The dream did break, and mellow slumber close.

©Poet Affaq 

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