21st Century Poets

All the daffodils long gone now, most of the tulips barren stemmed, the peonies are not quite fully budded, yet the breeze persistently wafted a sweet odour from the flower garden. Could it be….?! So I wanted to write a tribute and ended up with a pair of sonnets; someone commenting that the lily of the valley is called “Lacrima/teardrop” in the Romanian tongue, I eagerly added a third, which last took longer to compose frustratingly, is more soberly toned and not up to par with the initial set of two.  See what you think?

Lily of the Valley…..

(sonnet # XCIV)

XCIV

What fragrance this? what sweet perfume, that e’er
Accosts the senses, subtly faint but strong,
Alluring softly ‘mongst the blooming throng
In varied shades of green? seen barely there
‘Midst blades and stems and buds and leaves; for where
This scent? not yet the peonies, not long
Until they do, just June. To whom belong
This lair? with earlier blooms now bare, what rare
And lately bloss’ming tease is this? There low
On dainty, fragile stalks, white waxy belles
Aligned so primly hang their ruffled heads
Demurely; in their rich green sea ‘most glow,
Half-buried tantalize, with airs compel
The hapless wand’rer there to their ‘loved beds.

Sweet Blooms

(sonnet # XCV)

XCV

On dainty fragile stalks white waxy bells
No music play; whilst melodies surround,
Demurely silent hang their heads; whilst round
Them rise the other greens whose height excels,
Whose damsels’ colour palettes o’er theirs swells
In lavenders and lemons, reds abound;
Yet in their brilliant rainbow ne’er is found
So rich a scent as yet as have these belles
Who fill, infuse the breeze, on wafting airs
Entice and tease. As maidens modest, sweet,
Ne’er boldly e’er parade nor voice they raise,
Yet play upon the senses softly; theirs
The love that’s pure and clean; in white they greet,
As brides their heads now bent to hear Love’s praise.

Lacrima Tribute…

(sonnet # XCVIII)

XCVIII

Sweet teardrops daint’ly poised in silence low
On tender stalks, exuding perfumed air
On wafting teasing breezes subtly where
Between rich green cloaks beauty seems to glow,
As waxy ruffled white belles contrast show;
Demurely growing, heads inclined, declare
In their demeanour fortitude in fair
Display and simplest, whate’er winds may blow.
Their fragrance softly strong as moisture wrung
By deep emotion oft escapes, betraying
Its presence, glist’ning noiseless, lightly hung
On naught, suspended briefly, love conveying.
Thus Lily of the Valley typifies
That precious substance filling all our lives.

21/22, 26May11