Posie & Mosey Monday

On Mondays, I like to share word posies with my readers. Comments are disabled so you can enjoy this gift of poetry then mosey on along to your list of daily do's.*

*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any or all of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar.

The Little Grey Road
~Patience Worth 1883–1937

A little grey road that lies mid the shadows,
And trails from the Then to Now;
Where the briar-rose swings and th eve-lark sings,
And the dew clings 'bout the meadow way;
Where the sun lingers lothful, and the moon
Tarries too, so late to leave and soon to come.
Ah, the little grey roadway so far, far away,
Where I left my youth, treading with gladness,
And smiling, with bright hours to follow;
With no remembrance packed, like the scent
Of pale leaf that dropped at the withering touch
Of tears and sobs and sorrows.

All carefree I went, all happy a treading
On the little grey roadway so far.
Oh, that my feet might stray back
Through the fields and vales, and find
The same roadway a-roaming the shadows,
With memory's ghosts haunting the turns.
When the New Day doth come, and I leave
Thee and thee---shall I find it still waiting---
The little grey roadway wrapped in its shadows,
And my youth a-laughing me there?

Posie & Mosey Monday

Wait! Don't mosey along yet... I know I promised some news this week, and it's on its way tomorrow. Getting all of the I's dotted and the T's crossed at the moment.

In honor of  the waiting that IS writing, our word posie this week was written by Patience Worth, a classical American poet with a gift for beautiful imagery. In keeping with my Posie & Mosey Monday rules, the comments are closed, but please make sure to stop by tomorrow when I finally spill the beanie weanies about the good stuff that's been going on.

Until then, I hope everyone has a spectacular Monday!

*Hungry for more in-depth Monday posts? Visit any or all of the entertaining and insightful blogs on my sidebar. ;)

 

When Thou Art Gone

~Patience Worth (1883-1937)

When thou art gone, the little sunlit shadows
Still may dance, and the flowers nod,
And the trees whisper confidently one to the other.
When thou art gone, the day may be
No longer bright, but with slow tread pass on;
And the sun shall lag, and the moon be late in coming;
And the stars shall be lone-beamed,
And faintly gleaming, and the valleys shall draw
Their scarfs of mist about their breasts.
When thou art gone, the lilac nodding yon,
Shall make a sign of understanding.
When thou art gone,
No path shall seem to call invitingly.
When thou art gone,
The songs shall lack a tenderer chord.
But I shall not unhappy be!
For I shall follow thee,
Leaving all the mourning.