The Folly.

The pastoral scene was flawed
by that ruin.
A temple of sorts, but a folly in stone.
Half hidden and roofless,
its once deeply blue
Stucco had fallen in chunks,
and an old throne
Now exposed, bore mottled disease,
sorried roots
Of untended damp years
leaned it drunkenly.
Bare bones of a place,
it had aged unsuitably
For lovers trysts, yet she waited,
but her hope sunk
With the sun
when she knew he had gone, alone
And faced with her folly,
she felt the babe move,
And again a built dream began
to grow old.

kath
Like Patti, I have simply had to BM this astoundingly brilliant piece of poetic storytelling. What genius to match the two follies! What a light yet sure, deftness of touch in describing the scene and the play of emotions. and what an ending! This is a poem I would buy the book, to read over and over again! Fay! You have composed a perfect poem! A million gold stars and thank yous from me! :) kath xxxxxxxxxxxxx

heterodynemind
Wow!! What an ending. Bookmarking this for keeps!

Linda Winchell
Again a mastered piece of pen. God bless

Dorothy A. Holmes apwlts2
It seems love is always caught in the middle and sometimes lost in the end...The hard lesson of youth... Dorothy A Poet Who Loves To Sing

Fay Slimm
The poetic picture contains not only the ruin but a girl waiting having made a tryst with her lover to abscond - - and when sun had set she knew he would not be coming so sadly she knew she had commited a folly herself and from that moment her youth would now become as ruined as the building she was in... hope that helps Ray.

Ray Smith
Ah, Fay, forgive me but I'm a little lost here with your words.. Three-quarters of your well-written poem vividly describe the folly you're writing about which i can relate to, but then your last six lines switch to something that I'm struggling to get to grips with. A lady? The folly is feminine? Struggling with a folly? 'Again the young began to grow old'. Many apologies if I've missed something here. Regards, Ray

JoAnn McGrath
although that picture fits your poem...it isn't needed....your words describe it so well...put together superbly

 

Frank Lambert
Grand picture and words to match, again, those young ones, growing the wrong way.