Barefoot Poetry

SS Matthews


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Faire Wood

Emerald wood where I wander,
silence this self‘s need to ponder-
a heart grown stale and not above
collapsing from this toil of love.

No more do dream of maidens fair,
their scented oils, their braided hair,
their girlish games of kiss and peek,
a winsome bore, a wine too weak.

With charms displayed through evening’s mist,
a wood nymph robed in shifting wisps
of vapors spun into a gown,
emerges from the trees’ surround.

Beneath the gaze of rising moon,
in twilight tones she hums a tune,
seducing with her glance and gait
desire for a wildwood mate.

Her lithesome limbs and secret bough,
enfold me in her glamour’s glow.
Lips a-thirst for strange encampment
drink from leaves in vines’ enchantment.

Our dance begins in naked dusk.
Machines of men may rot to rust.
I breath her scent and hold it fast,
then beg the night to ever-last.

SS Matthews

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