The Troth


Finds it after breakfast, there on her counterpane
A folded note, a single long-stemmed rose
Rattles metaphoric dice a time or two and throws
After all, nothing to lose and everything to gain

Stands here now waiting in a leaf-strewn lane
Chosen since it’s somewhere no one ever goes
Breathes in and October’s piquancy fills her nose
Diamonds everywhere, gifts of the recent rain

A random thought arises, makes her laugh
“May they comfort me thy rod and staff”
She has been bitten before, has been stung

Shrugs it off as being part of being young
She imagines the gentle touch of his hand
Almost feels on her finger the wedding band

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feelings.

Posted on October 26, 2016, in Sonnet and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. A touch of romance. Love it.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Ooh, I do love this one, Ben. Delicately beautiful and master-crafted.

    Liked by 1 person

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