|
The Songs of Lovers
by Ken HarnischWhispered among the pines this morning
Were the songs of lovers
Who came to the meadow
Intent on exchanging only words
But the sun and the water riffling
Through the woods
And their own emotions, stirred to a
Fever neither one could have
Foreseen, or so they said,
Led to collusions of
The most intimate kind
Now they sit in silence
In the car, brought to
Questions they dare not
Ask, brought to places
They haven’t been
In years with others
To whom they owe more fealty
And what was tender in the morning
Is now an unanswered question in the afternoon
And yet the glow, persisting,
Seems to provide
At least one
They can hang
A next time on. 07/23/2008 Posted on 07/23/2008
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Mary Frances Spencer on 07/23/08 at 03:17 PM Nice! MFS |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 07/23/08 at 03:28 PM Ah, the intricacies of intimcy. How the mind sometimes has difficulty in grasping the import of the moment. |
| Posted by Sandy M. Humphrey on 07/28/08 at 07:31 PM The glow itself can be enough said in moments like this when all good intentions give way to firey emotions...descriptive and intense one is there in the meadow, in the car and the windows are foggy. smh |
| 
