"It is in Nature to Love"
A Book of Poems
Commissioned by Sir Gunther, KRoC
a
Knight, unto his Lady Julie.
Done by Sir Brand (KSCA) for this
Master Armorer and
friend.
To Sailor's eyes, give harbor after storm.
To Soldier's legs, give rest at home fires-warm.
To Mother's hearts, give children happ'ly play'ng.
To Farmer's hands, give land that grows good grain.
To everything, give what it most does prize
For me 'twould be the love that's in your eyes.
Of Kisses Lent.
From snow made
bows the bolts of dawn
do pierce the moss-made luscious
lawn.
The jewels of dew do slip and bend
from top and end of
flowered fen.
Freed seedlings ride upon the winds,
create new
kin, they spin, descend.
The ivy climbs both high and slim
and
winds its way around the limb.
This poor list names with good
intent
your soft and kindly kisses lent.
In Appreciation of Nature.
Tho' weak the gentle rain may strike the ground
It
smites the earth deceptively and wins.
For little yet more powerful is
found
That can control our life and all within.
The sun 'tis felt
with warmth and radiance
Yet light is blocked by leaf or airy
cloud
In darkness lies the death of all we chance
In light does grow
the future we've endowed.
Each little thing that lends its strength to
life
When joined presents most notable a cause.
So we, though tiny
in our days, do strive
To make great change with love to ease our
flaws.
We owe for this good life that we've been lent.
With loving
days give payment to the rent.
Sins and Forgivance.
For all
my wrongs, let me, in truth, repent.
For all the shortfalls and the
efforts failed.
For every callow cowardice unmeant.
For every
shallow deed and anger railed.
For each time that my temper-hot has
flared
For every time an oath has been forgot.
For each time I've
condemned for deeds I dared.
For all the learning that has come to
naught.
These sins and errors have enough recalled
The list of
debt that I must soon erase.
For since decline can never be
forestalled
I must amend my sinning with some grace.
Let shine
alone this beacon light most sure.
My love, if nothing else, was good
and pure.
Great Prizes, Small Seeds.
The
rain does softly patter as it falls
Yet view the growth of rivers and
the seas.
Tho' gentle is the sun that warms our halls
Take light
from us and know how soon we'd die.
The tree, when young, takes root
within the stone.
At age, the rock is split by root's firm
grasp.
The hardest steel the smithy may yet own
Is shaped and
softened by the worker's rasp.
Each babe, so small that hands may be
the crib
Each foal, so frail a breath may take its stand
Each word
ascribed by tiny feathered nib
May like a prayer make miracles at
hand.
From unassuming seeds do orchards grow.
How ever love so
prospers, we will know.
The Test of Inspiration.
When
armor's new, and sweat is yet to run
When Horses have no mud upon their
length.
When sword is newly edged with no harm done
How easy is the
rough made boast of strength.
When on the chart, how little are the
foe.
When night is hung, how brave the deeds of dawn.
When
breakfasting, "the master of the blow".
How quick the face of day will
make these gone.
In battle, let the truth alone be
strong
Inspired by skillful mastery of art.
Let years of effort,
trial and test belong
To those that have the noblest of
heart.
Let me in boast be silent and unheard.
My sword shall
speak my inspiration's word.
Of Walks in the Wood.
As ebon eve
embraces twilight's veils.
And orchestrated choruses of night
Begin
their woven thicket songs and tales
We'll wend our way among this
lovely sight.
Our hearing fills with flutt'ring rain-dropped
sounds
Our sight disguises shadows wrapped with grays.
Aromas mix
like sweet herbs freshly ground
The skin alive 'gainst textured evening
ways.
As dawn upon the waters of still lakes
And earth new turned,
with tangled roots enlaced
This living cool replaces what pain
takes
And leaves a living beauty in its place.
When shared with you,
this green-filled gentle vale,
This forest park, presents renewing
grail.
The Harbor in the Fen.
All
forests have a multitude of gift
To prize the forester if they well
tend
This treasure hid. Its talent is to lift
The seeker's spirit
and its peace to lend.
For forests are a harbor in the fen
The
bustle of its life competes, contends
For far atop the highest reaching
limb
To deep below the soil where roots do wend.
And wearing ages as
an oft worn cloak
This wood does share its many layered lives.
The
riches here enshrined are strong like oak
Well solid and protected as
it thrives.
Our lives are like this wood, in strength we grow.
Days
layered smooth with leaves are how we go.
All poems (c) copyright 1995 by GregRobin Smith Printed by Nopress Inparticular Bokes.
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All my works and these pages are (c) 1995-1998 by GregRobin Smith. Re-print and serial rights are available, contact GregRobin for details.
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