Strum, strum!
Ah, wee one,
Croon unto the tendril tipped with sungilt,
Nodding thee from o’er the doorsill there.
Strum, strum!
My wheel shall sing to thee.
I pull the flax as golden as thy curl,
And sing me of the blossoms blue,
Their promise, like thine eyes to me.
Strum, strum!
‘Tis such a merry tale I spin.
Ah, wee one, croon unto the honey bee
Who diggeth at the rose’s heart.
Strum, strum!
My wheel shall sing to thee,
Heart-blossom mine. The sunny morn
Doth hum with lovelilt, dear.
I fain would leave my spinning to
The spider climbing there,
And bruise thee, blossom, to my breast.
Strum, strum!
What fancies I do weave!
Thy dimpled hand doth flutter, dear,
Like a petal cast adrift
Upon the breeze.
Strum, strum!
‘Tis faulty spinning, dear-
A cradle built of thornwood,
A nest for thee, my bird.
I hear thy crooning, wee one,
And ah, this fluttering heart!
Strum, strum!
How ruthlessly I spin!
My wheel doth whir an empty song, my dear,
For tendril nodding yonder
Doth nod in vain, my sweet;
And honey bee would tarry not for thee;
And thornwood cradle swayeth only
To the loving of the wind!
Strum, strum!
My wheel still sings to thee,
Thou birdling of my fancy’s realm!
Strum, strum!
An empty dream, my dear!
The sun doth shine, my bird;
Or should he fail, he shineth here
Within my heart for thee!
Strum, strum!
My wheel still sings to thee.
(Patience Worth)
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Based on Topics: Dreams Poems, Birds Poems, Promise PoemsBased on Keywords: birdling, ruthlessly, strum, doorsill, swayeth