Photograph
Upon a poet’s grave you stand
With his breath held in your hand.
The beauty that I see in you
Only Yeats could describe
Because he looked beyond the glass
That darkens and shades your eyes.
♞♜♝
Beneath your feet is the man who said
The Windows of the soul.
Through the windows of your soul
I feel the flavour in your mind
And the windows of the soul, my love
Can never tell a lie.
♞♜♝
Your soft slim hand rests on your head,
My fingers often touched that place
When I stroked your auburn hair
I kissed those lips and finger-tips
And neck with swan-like curve.
♞♜♝
I look over this written word
And it’s painted in my mind -
Those mountains where I used to walk
Don’t seem so lonely now.
Oh how I’d smile with you so near
We’d both stand side by side.
♞♜♝
Yeats has long been laid to rest
But I think right now I’d rather be
Laid by his side.
It seems to me he has it all
The mountains and the flowing stream
And the beauty of you, an Irish queen.
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