image-two face entwined

It’s a sharp, cold day in October,

up here in these far-rolling hills,

decked out in fiery colours,

like the coat that Joseph received,

but I’m warmed by longing reflections,

of hot summer days and a girl

who ran to the silvery river,

that flows through the village below,

where for hours we talked,

and for hours we sat,

and for hours our eyes we entwined.

Ah, to remember her beauty,

so gentle, so delicate, so aged,

her mystery now is transmuted,

a rainbow turned into gold,

so all that’s left is the mourning

for the future we lost long ago,

as with wine and tears we remember,

though old, though sad, and though few,

our quest for the love and the longing,

that gives life to the passage of time.


Spanish Memory

Spanish memory-image
They met when the snow had fallen,
They met when the ground was white,
Two youths in search of a lover,
Two youths in the moon’s pale light,

She was as fair as Alhambra,
He was surely a northern prince,
These youths who’d found each other,
These youths e’er one e’er since,

They danced and cried to the music,
They burned with the heat of the wine,
Nothing could part such lovers,
Not God, nor man, nor time,

And still the music moves them,
And still they taste the wine,
This girl from the Moorish castle,
This youth of the northern clime,
Entwined in the still sweet darkness,
Entwined in a love sublime.