She waits in battlefield of gray
For knight to come and wield his sword
And spring to come with lovely word
As dawn with word lifts high the day.
A pristine princess of the wood,
Her earnest eyes stare with no sound;
Her root is true and probes rich ground
In search of waters pure and good.
I join her in the depths of soul,
Knowing I shall never win her,
For she has won my dearest tear
As roots do deepest drop from soil.
Eric M. Vogt, Copyright 2013
sharmishtha basu
/ February 4, 2013fabulous one eric!
Eric
/ February 4, 2013deanabo
/ January 30, 2013Your words flow beautifully!
Eric
/ January 30, 2013Thank you!
reikiheidi
/ January 30, 2013This has the sense of a ‘classic’ poem… very eloquent, lovely rhythm and sentiment
Eric
/ January 30, 2013Thank you very much for your warm comments and insight.
Eric
soumyav
/ January 30, 2013absolutely awesome.! it touches the core!
Eric
/ January 30, 2013Thank you so much, Soumya! Nice of you to stop by and ponder.
Eric
kalabalu
/ January 30, 2013Roots the spread inside the earth I think
Minerals and vitamins, the tender off shoot brings
trees are silent but wind makes them swing
fresh flowers bloom in sunny spring,
Eric
/ January 30, 2013You are wild wind and freshest bloom,
E
your roots run deep, always with room,
their tender touch revealing heart.
rawencounterswithestella
/ January 30, 2013Lovely. Really nice, Eric.
Eric
/ January 30, 2013Thank you, Stella. Can’t wait for your next poem!
Eric