Winter blasts,shrieking as pierced crystal in moonlight,
her figure trembles by the brinks edge.
Striking the center of her mind was a lost knight,
grabbing her sobs with tears frozen midcheek, before free falling from the ledge.

Spring, she wished to forget, when maid and man met,
stolen glances,verbal advances, a skins breach of indecency.
A single solitary evening was set, a tryst between Lachlan and Lizbet,
a tangled two caught in treasonous secrecy.

Blistering and bold, the summer, unforgiving,
imprisoned Lizbets' waist increases.
Lachlans' fate--no longer with the living,
a Lord may punish adultery as he pleases.

Fall, where all surrender to die,
a babe forced out silent, the demise of labors hope.
Barely clad the woman lingered, as did her lie,
the sentence one of repugnance and a length of hanging rope.

In the beginning
The sky shines bright
To the end

I see the sunlight dappled on the hill,
A balmy afternoon in the late Spring,
I hear the sweet beautiful birdsong still;
It's a time when all the birds sweetly sing!
And the meadows of flowers sweetly blow,
They perfume the air with fragrance so sweet,
Sometimes at evening when I walk slow;
I stop to see those flowers at my feet.
I stop and stoop to smell their dear sweetness,
For they are filled with everlasting grace,
For sometimes they will my fair cheeks caress;
And brush their petals up against my face.
I admire they're so very sweet beauty,
They are a very fond treasure to see!

*~Marian~

Some try to convince themselves,
this is the rarest of sensations
as they walk along the edges of a place
where their name is whispered by a spring
that flows love to all.
Still, we wonder
if it takes a truly perfect heart
beating softly
inside of a self-built cocoon
to be inspired,
hear the call.  

Does nightfall build the pressure felt
of those who fall
until they lower their expectations
find they are climbing mountains
hoping to catch
the silvery moon?
Is it not obvious that these hearts
will travel fearlessly
always bowing their heads
and closing their eyes,
in hope true love
will blossom soon.

I wonder if they have folded their hearts'
around an ache
no one is able to see.
Or if this is only the beginning
of recognizing myself
in their mirror.  
This rare sensation I feel
walking along the same edge
is merely erasing each step
fearlessly taken.
The silvery moon
has not....
grown any nearer.

Part 1

It is my favourite place to go,
Even while outside it will snow,
With my favourite book in hand;
I can visit another land.

Places never seen before,
While I sit on my chair reading with the lamp casting shadows on the floor,
Old shabby books on shelves;
Novels, Fiction, Short Stories, and fairytales.

With the fireplace with it's warm-bright glow,
Where will I go next in my favourite book? I never know.
Will you be there with me?
I don't know, we'll have to see.

Sitting alone on my favourite old fashioned chair,
Where will I go next? I know not where.
With my favourite book in hand,
It's very easy to see a far off land!

My favourite books yellowed from time,
Reading some fairytale or Nursery rhyme,
Reading other good books too;
Everything I can read under the sky of blue!

I want to read everything I can,
In my old fashioned chair with a book in hand,
With a few books resting beside my old fashioned chair on a coffee stand;
Seeing some other land.

With my kitten on the braided rug beside the hearth,
And me reading an adventure somewhere else on this earth,
With a cup of tea by my side and a cat beside me;
And while I read my book I sip on my hot tea.*

~Marian~