Windmills are calling their men <br />To the sea, <br />She who is sashaying unto the <br />Moon’s sycophancies <br />The wills are wounded with the <br />Winding blades, <br />The rabbits are burrowing for <br />New bridesmaids: <br />In the briars of dashing green, <br />Beneath the echoes of the gurgling streams: <br />All is quiet as a mute child <br />Opal trunks twisted and wild, <br />The lovers holding hands <br />Walking far from the distance town, <br />Soon beneath the glowing penumbra <br />They’ll both lie down: <br />And confide to each other words <br />They wish to hear, <br />And kiss, and kiss in the woods <br />Amidst the gentle kines and the frightened deer.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ancient-lovers/
