PlaneShift
Fan Area => Roleplaying (Communitive Storywriting) => Poetry, Comedy, and other. => Topic started by: Kixie on October 26, 2006, 01:31:32 pm
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English title: "The white cat of agile love"
Aye, t’was the season that fruit bore weighty
On the silmaaran boughs and treesun vines
The clackers shook wings, fitful spar of mating
Shunning the feet of the passerbys
It was here on the hills so lush with sage
I gazed on what I thought ‘magination
Mesmerizing white, with no signs of age
She danced through the brooks without hesitation
Her paw met waters, yet spread not a ripple
And her claw did not sheer any bark from their trees
Oh what woe be if this maiden were cripple
For her ankles swept comely as if graced with wings
Ah such sweet hazel kernels sat on those cheeks
Not for a second were e’er hidden by lid
Her jaw was in regards just as discrete
Yet she sung in a voice I shall ne’er be rid
After the azure dimmed and night draped above
I lie ‘moung flowers now shut with sleep
Restless my soul, hind gazing ‘carnate love
Yet I pressed not to mar my face with weep
Not a moment after that crystal on high
Was full as a spring well is filled to the brim
Returned to the brook of yesterday, had I
Shortly hereafter, countless tear met my chin
At times like a seer patient, and wise
The waters seemed all but placid with ease
Yet mist accrued from rock still did not prise
As comely when day before ended fine’ly
Nay those waters did not possess grace
Since, when before that maiden met shores
The rocks now seemingly wept from its face
As if water was within its own hidden stores
Return to hillsides threw my heart in woe
I peered through the hedges for a sight of that fleece
And rewarded was my search, Behold!
For now returned hath that feline, she.
Without hesitation I ran to embrace
That nymph who had exalted such fine airs
She did not coward from my presence or face
Instead she gazed forward entranced in a stare
She did not falter, nor sped with a step
Still as the marble effigies of Laanx
Comely even this state was she yet
But not till in my arms would I give thanks
But she fled to the hills at my very touch
As if my hands gave the pains of hot ember
While I ne’er ‘gain spied that pelt I longed much
In the faces of all, that feline I remember
This is inspired by the work of Keats, "La belle dame sans merci" although not a direct imitation of prose.
Enjoy!
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Wow Kixie, very nice.
How long did that take you?
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Wow Kixie, very nice.
How long did that take you?
Well, I discovered the story last night, and starting writing at 8 this morning... so about 4 hours give or take. Sometimes I feel that I should take another day to edit and revise, but I felt this one was ready.