it captured me one summer, <br />swiftly, i courting <br />its magic light, <br />frantically attracted <br /> <br />against its naked form <br />i battered my frail moth wings <br />never hearing It <br />retreat in mockery. <br /> <br />i heard instead crescendoed <br />notes of hope, <br />and gentle sounds - <br />apple bough tapping <br />on the windowpane <br />like an old man's finger <br />beckoning me <br />from one bed <br />to warm another <br />made of down <br />where I could pull <br />the covers up on all reality <br />and listen to the roof-music <br />of falling rain. <br /> <br />not caring I a prisoner of its guile, <br />did watch the grass run wild <br />not noticing, I left the books <br />to gather dust, and slept <br />all summer through <br />on fantasy. <br /> <br />autumn came <br />its dead leaves <br />fluttered down <br />onto my own lifeless, <br />blanched face <br />that expressed <br />my inner deadness. <br /> <br />Then I awaited winter <br />with a sullen dread <br />i forced myself <br />to listen to the tinkering tunes <br />of ice-embroidered trees <br />fearing that if a silence <br />came between <br />my precious voice <br />might pause <br />and freeze in it <br />and speak no more to me. <br /> <br />(1968)<br /><br />Philippa Lane<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seducer/
