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Thursday, September 1, 2016
THE WONDROUS WEAVER
Yes, it was a new dawn
But my spirits drooped
Heavily I stooped
Lost and forlorn
In the lawn.
Then things changed in a jiffy
As my eyes fell on a weaver spiffy.
In the first rays of the sun, it spun
A beauty sublime
Elegant its gossamer rhyme
In every strand was hidden a tinkle
And a buoyant chime.
I loved the way the weaver rolled
On the morning cold.
The silver gossamer strands
Stretching from one tree to another
Were tinted in gold.
The tiny architect and designer
Heaved and weaved
An intricate web
My appreciative glance
As the sunbeams broke into dance
Fox trotting on the gossamer strands.
Suddenly it took a false step and slipped
Damaging the majestic tapestry, but gripped
A tiny strand alternating between
And frenzied descent.
Frantically it groped
Clinging to the tenuous edifice of hope
Scuttling across one broken strand
Feverishly resuming this renovation grand.
The never say die spirit scintillated and shone
As the web was reborn as a rhyme sublime.
An exemplary tapestry was yet again spun
Under the sun.
Step by step, strand by strand, there was majesty grand.
I saw the weaver heaving, cleaving, and retrieving
Firmly believing, not grieving or leaving
The weaving of this magical tapestry of rebirth,
Regeneration and resurrection
From the debris of hope.
Now no longer did I mope
But was riveted to the gossamer rhyme
The tinkle of the buoyant chime
And the peals of labour
Overhead there was a rumble of thunder
Tearing the peace asunder
The sun was pinioned down and helpless
Unable to extricate itself from the cloudy mess.
The clouds partied raucously
The celebratory fervor of the clouds
Heightened in intensity.
The hills were alive to the sounds of their music
Clap, clap, slap, slap, tap, tap, rap, rap.
There was the sound of a guitar
Clouds had congregated from wide and far
The dress code black
Confidence none did lack
Exuberant and spry
Conscientious like boy scouts
Screams and shouts
And yes there were Scottish bagpipers too
Violin and lute
Tooters who loved to toot
And some flautists too
Creating a happy din.
"Leave me alone, leave me alone"
Unheard went the sun's mute plea
For it things were grim
Alas, its fire was dim.
The clouds danced and piroutted
Threw back their shaggy manes and twisted
Celebrating their victory.
The sun had fallen from grace
A coup had taken place.
They danced the rare dance of bonhomie
Almost extinct on earth
Irrepressible their mirth
The birds caught the infection
And chirped and chirped
In absolute joy fluffing their feathers
And expanding their girth.
A father and son played on a string cot
Under a tree
Their chortles and chuckles
With the thunder merged
The all-round rancor magically purged
Creating some new sounds.
The father picked up the child in his arms
Affected by the cloudy charms
And danced and pranced
Trying to replicate the cloudy mirth
On a parched earth.
Furtively, the sun pushed away a chunk of cloud
And glanced and glanced.
Peace in the skies
Peace on the earth
Rampant the mirth!
THE TWIN SUN RAYS
The twin raylets, sneaked down the invisible ladder
Hanging from the fog - festooned sky.
Silently, stealthily casting one look at the sleepy sun.
Holding hands, daintily, they lifted their golden skirts
Ah, their ankles dazzled.
At the comatose sun cocking a snook
With infantile joy, the golden beauties shook.
Out to have some fun
While the sun dozed under a foggy blanket.
With impish mischief their eyes shone
A bit diffident and ambivalent
The danseuses two
In the branches cavorted and gamboled
Performing a medley of dances
The tango, the flamenco.
The fox trot and twist.
The languorous branches stirred when kissed.
They pranced in the fronds, slurped the dewdrops
Enveloped a cold, crippled lapwing in their warm arms
The lapwing no longer shivered,
But skittered around on the dew- drenched ground
With a confidence new-found
Waking the green grass with its happy hops.
Having done the good deed of the day
The good Samaritans two, now emboldened
Lifted their skirts golden
And hid in the foliage of a luxuriant tree
Radiant with juvenile glee
Waiting for the sun to shake off the shackles foggy
And rise in the east , no longer groggy .
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