Sonnet no. 6.
Visions of love lost
My arms outstretched again my dearest love,
I’m watching as your dress glides on the grass,
Your vibrant beauty no one can surpass,
with fragrant skin as soft as Turtle doves.
You lift the bonnet from your hair of red,
then hand in hand we kiss beneath the Yew,
your angel voice speaks of arrangements new,
for soon, as wife you’ll share my modest bed.
Your tears of fear they stain your perfect face,
though, to this fight we knew I had to go,
we tremble as we hold each other tight.
Your visions fade now from this barren place,
your loved betrothed dies in cold Russian snow
as Bonaparte, retreats with closing night.
David J Delaney
06/01/2010 ©
