“Faded Violets”
A Terza Rima
(Old Welsh Style)
She sits by an open door,
violets rest on her lap,
remnants from Psalms of the poor.
there on the floor lies a folded map,
showing secrets of the land.
Could this be a subtle trap
that leads us to a pit of sand,
then throw us in the salty brine?
The glowing center of her hand,
soothes the visions in my mind,
her smile is full and so true,
brings music flowing from a band,
with a thousand harps playing through,
an ayre that brings a tear,
I bend down, ‘tis so grand,
the sounds of ‘Foggy Dew’
almost too much to endure,
as thick as the best lamb stew,
to utter a soft and sweet mew.
-R. William Lindsey
A Terza Rima
(Old Welsh Style)
She sits by an open door,
violets rest on her lap,
remnants from Psalms of the poor.
there on the floor lies a folded map,
showing secrets of the land.
Could this be a subtle trap
that leads us to a pit of sand,
then throw us in the salty brine?
The glowing center of her hand,
soothes the visions in my mind,
her smile is full and so true,
brings music flowing from a band,
with a thousand harps playing through,
an ayre that brings a tear,
I bend down, ‘tis so grand,
the sounds of ‘Foggy Dew’
almost too much to endure,
as thick as the best lamb stew,
to utter a soft and sweet mew.
-R. William Lindsey
