His Tongue’s Dulcet Tones

His Tongue’s Dulcet Tones

(Though his path stray far from truth)

His words did roam through lanes of rustic gold,
By fields where amber wheat doth kiss the sky,
Along the river’s bend, both swift and bold,
O’er arches wrought of stone they softly fly.

Through wooded snares and breezes light they sweep,
Above the crawfish in their misty play,
Each sound ablaze, as if the night to keep,
A flame of moonshine gilds the fleeting day.

His phrases dance round lilies of the morn,
And spark a gleam within mine eyes to shine,
Like candlewood where autumn shades are born—
Yet sad to say his wayward soul doth not align.

Beneath the boughs, my heart did strain to hear,
His tongue’s dulcet tones, to me now no longer dear.