Rinsing The Blue

 

Go now and in my forest ramble

Amongst the thorns and hazelnuts

Search the edges, scour the shadows

And tell me if you find my love.

 

An old man in a hut of bones

He wears a cap all-colours blue

And he wastes away in the wilderness

Without a damn for me or you.

 

And if you find him whisper quiet

Into his cauliflowered ear

How beautiful his grey-green eyes

How beautiful his beard

 

Then take him by the knuckled hand

Lead him out into the sun

To where the river roughs its course

Where wild flowers bloom.

 

There on a stone above the stream

Dance his heart into a dream

Dance of kings and queens of old

And lovers’ stories still to follow.

 

Dance a fire in his mind

Dance desire into his eye

Dance until the tears of youth

Are flowing once more at his foot.

 

Now you have him – Quick – Take hold

(Forget the water’s fast and cold)

Toss his cap into the wind

And bathe him in that mountain stream.

 

Dunk him three times – down he goes

From his bald patch to his toes

Scrub the stubborn from his skin

And rinse the blue he’s wallowed in.

Tagged with: poempoetryRinsing The Blue
 

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