(Musketeers Tribute Challenge) #100 - Update (2 more Poems from Roy's Library) No's 13 & 14

a writing by Richard Gildea

Hello All,
Two more Poems from Roy's wonderful library of work.
The first one is chosen on behalf of my Noble Brother Keith (Porthos) Lumbard and the second by yours truly Aramis /|\.
I know Keith was astounded (as were we all) when reading the attached footnote to Roy's piece.
We look forward to the various takes from your Muse
Enjoy.

The Musketeers /|\


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"A GRAVESIDE PRAYER"

(One of Keith's favourites)

Oh sweetest soul that e'er God took away,
What, in this world, is left for me to care?
But just to sit in quiet solace,
Your ever-present tender face
My only cause to live another day,
And hope that we will meet again somewhere.

Oh dearest heart that e'er I longed to own,
I seem to hear you softly beating still,
As oft I did when you were mine;
Now, kneeling distant at your shrine,
Wherefore do you tread death's dark way alone
When, hand in hand, we planned dreams to fulfil?

Oh sweetest, dearest love there are no tears
Left more to shed, my depth of grief to show,
As proof, that, if my eyes have cried,
Part of my soul, with you, has died;
Tho long and bitter be the coming years,
One day, where you now rest, I'll gladly go.


Footnote: - (Composed by Roy at "The Auburn" Lezayre Road, Ramsey, in the Isle of Man - at the age of 10).

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"Twould Better Been" (my choice)

I wondered what remained, if aught,
Of mien, erstwhile, sounded sweet;
When, in her gossamer was caught
By web youth weaves with kind deceit:
Did I escape? Or she relent
And let me go, for good or ill?
Perchance would count as time well spent,
To learn if she enchanted still!

Urged on, by yearning memory,
I sought again a love let slip,
And Lo! From stark photography
Came forth renewed acquaintanceship:
I looked upon that frozen face,
Dismayed, to ask, “Who therein dwells?”
And marked how age retained no trace
Of one who'd cast enticing spells:

As groans within did suffocate
All breath of curiosity,
I paused, aghast, to ruminate
On Time's unfit propensity:
“Wherefore? (I thought) need I, hereon
Employ poetic praise again?
Or seek regaining that foregone?
In absence worn, 'til rendered plain!”

And yet, constrained am I, perforce,
By virtue of my own decline,
To former musing lines endorse
As fitting one who once was mine:
Tho wiser, than when erst enslaved,
Still yet, at mention of her name
She, young and lovely, stays engraved,
As fair of face and ripe in frame:

And I start wondering, if aught,
Of one, who I adored, remains;
Loath to admit by her was caught
In web of gossamer that wanes:
“Who now? (Sighs mind's self-pityings)
Enchanted, strolls with her beside?
Or song of glad enslavement sings
To she who sought to be my bride?”

‘Twould better been I'd served her cause,
Or mine! Had I escaped – for good,
And left Time's work behind closed doors:
As now, alas, I wish I could.

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