Selena came to me again last night,
Smiling, aloof, her Mona Lisa eyes
Following my every move in jealous sight,
Vaporous silvered clouds her thin disguise.
She watched me as I wandered through the trees
Walking the path down to the ancient mill;
In darkened air stirred by a gentle breeze,
The brook flowed fast, the wooden wheel stood still.
Oft times we met here drawn by love alone,
Listening to sweet nightingales sing;
The moveless paddles stopped all hope torn foam
As if to sodden round, my life did cling.
What love is this that nightly dreams do make—
To ravish so at dusk; at dawn forsake?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.