The Virgin called on
Einhard in the vale,
Her voice rapt
His shaking limbs
A sack and a staff
He carried through town.
In his pledged heart
Her hand moves.
Paupers with hair blonde
As cloudless noon,
Boys high as reeds
With thistle tops
(Thistles they playfully lopped
With imaginary swords
On bright spring days.)
Shared his taking of the Cross.
"To Jerusalem!" he cried.
Starvation took its breath,
Rivers their limbs,
And God gathered His jewels
Scattering them cross heaven
To make the black sky run
A silver streaming light blue
Our Virgin's crystal tears.
2 comments:
The first two verses read as chronicle. Then you go strongly into a fable cantor and I delight in this!
"Paupers with hair blonde as noon in cloudless summer" ... the wordiness takes away from the imagery on this line. "Paupers with hair blonde as summer's noon" would be stronger IMO. This third stanza is nearly perfect.
Again I'd cut "they" in the "Thistles" line. I love this passage; it reads as a fable.
"And God gathered His jewels ... Scattering them cross heaven" This layered visual is striking.
There is promise for greatness in this write ... "Her voice swathed his shaking limbs".
David, some of your historical allegory is lost on me; it would enrich the read to nota bene` the themes-genre.
I'd love to be called upon to critique an edited copy. This has markings of a signature write. Sarai
*canter
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