the child born in May

Listening to: American Honey by Lady Antebellum

Reading: Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

I was sitting outside today
and I held the day in my hand,
remembering it.
The afternoon was warm,
but chilly around the edges.
This is the weather I live for. I live for winter.
I love it.

I'll get a book and haul a blanket outside.
I'll sit by a tree and read Edgar Allan Poe
to the frozen sky.
 "A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee."
And it would pull it's gray cardigan
closer,
and sigh some more.

 

And I'll look up and whisper it something.

"Neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."
 

 

love,
the child born in May

La venue de Asher

From the seldom traveled path,

A soldier did arrive.

Weary was his form,

But his eyes quite alive.

.

His pale sword brightly glinted;

The stars did lighten his road.

His mind with pitiless hands

Did war’s concern softly goad.

.

I saw his manner of angst,

A torrent rushing beneath glass.

I saw a gleam of resolve:

Sinking, for the pain held it fast.

.

Now as he departs again,

He confidently speaks of his return.

Wait shall I, in ignorance’s hold;

Of night or day, I shall not discern.

.

And now I wait, long do I wait

To see his form return anew.

War’s dire hand holds its own,

Unwilling to release the few.

.

Among moonlit waves do I stand,

Wishing to spot this on the sea:

One whom battle has not slain;

One who listened to my plea.

In Christ,

Jessie