"A Busy Clerk"Sometimes the ancient minstrels play loudly on the eve of a full moon
Their harps of delicate cowhide, dark oak, and Eurasian silk
Singing sweetly in the mid-winter wind
Frost clinging to their dirt stained boots lined with the thickest furs of the Northern Kingdoms
I listen from my dusty chamber
Thick books of last December's taxes and dust of a decade surround
My thin cloak of cotton, no lining due to my empty purse
But I hear their engaging tune
As I whisper a farewell to my books of work and all
Out the window to their sound my heart goes
As I dream of ancient pasts and courageous Kings, and Knights of silver
Sleeping with my head upon my cedar desk
Dreams spinning in my snores
I sleep and awaken in a morning of fog
My books and forms covered with frost
As my open window that never closed
And no moon to hear my cry
For my deadline has arrived!
No comments:
Post a Comment