A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty-Five

From the lovely ‘Song of Wandering Aengus’.

‘And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.’—W.B. Yeats

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When someone plucks apple blossom
Fire was flickering in the woods
I hear your voice like some balsam

A kiss of the wind carpe diem
Your hazel eyes bright as they should
When someone plucks apple blossom

With magic wand wish you could come
In my head, memories stood
I hear your voice like some balsam

Twinkle must have faded so glum
Moths were soaring by the firewood
When someone plucks apple blossom

Leaves rustled the sound of a drum
Still there memories of childhood
I hear your voice like some balsam

Times were golden and so blithesome
In shining armour your knighthood
When someone plucks apple blossom
I hear your voice like some balsam*

(c) ladyleemanila 2017

* Villanelle

For: A Month with Yeats: Day Twenty-Five, Micropoetry Month: Nov 2017: #25

mm

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