In The Stillness of The Garden was written in April 2018 and has remained unpublished here until now
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Susumu Yokota “Purple Rose Minuet”
In the stillness of the garden
Mine heart, it doth beat
Doth not beg for pardon
Doth not beat a retreat
Doth not fitfully tense
Doth not harden
In the stillness of the garden
Mine heart, it doth beat
Whosoever discern its tempo
Shalt truly know mine verity
May feel obliged to question mine sincerity
Yet, shalt only find one answer
For mine heart, it doth beat verily
With fleetness of foot and the arms of a dancer
And faster and evermore faster
Doth beat in mine chest
With boldness of spirit
Sheathed beneath a staunch breast
Doth not withdraw whence fingers be prest
Doth not protest whencesoever it be blest
Lest it be dressed in the crest of a curse
Lest it be addressed in oppressive verse
Mine heart, it doth hurt
Sometimes
In the private recline of its chamber
Mine faith, it doth momentarily waver
Howbeit, mine spirit maketh haste and this river doth run thro it
Replenishing sanguine as it proceeds then to renew it
Mine heart, it doth bleed
Tho ne’er need fear the leave of fluids
In the stillness of the garden
Mine heart, it doth bloom
Ever studious
Doth not wilt in the furious glare of the sun
Doth not cower from the beauteous gaze of the moon
Doth not fall away too soon
In the stillness of this garden
Mine heart, it doth bloom
Mine heart, it doth be true
Awhile the world about it changes tune
Shines soothfast light across the darkest lagoon
Not inclined to dragoon
Misaligned thro manoeuvre
For mine heart, it doth be steadfast and true
And ’tis scarcely even noon
I, the globe shall compass soon
For mine heart doth no more wellaway in solitude
With certitude not habitude or servitude
Doth worship first thro latitude ‘fore gratitude
Declining no more be mine attitude
For thine heart beats a tempo mine own only bids gather to
Nay, we the globe shall compass soon
For our crystalline heart, it doth dance beneath the light of new moon
In the stillness of the garden
This heart once of glass, it doth merrily waltz
Doth wear a glow extraordinarily warm
Doth on occasion slow
Doth on occasion temporarily halt
Howbeit, ne’er doth sunlight care divorce
For in the stillness of this garden
Eden calls
Richard Charles Stevens
Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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