Will

With sufficient will, and stores of
Unmoored adjectives and nouns,
I conjure up the perfect day. Oh, see
The pale, unclouded sky. It's spring.
The air is fresh and only warm.
The summer's heat, which my love
Finds unpleasant, hasn't come,
And she's with me outside. We're
Seated at a table underneath
The budding trees. Birds are
Back and gaily singing. My love's
In a decent mood, a rare occurrence,
One worth noting. She seems
Pleased to be with me, and time,
Our servant in this instance,
Passes at a glacial pace. The world,
So willed, is wonderful, and not
At all like that I'm seeing: snow
And cold, and me all by myself
Inside and glad of that, as my
Love's in a lousy mood, another
Snit, and not worth having here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 46 times
Written on 2016-12-03 at 20:51

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