Lavender
The lavender serenely sways
On quiet fields and sleepy dales,
But dreams awake me from my slumber,
Causing the fields and skies to pale.
When will I wake and find the dream,
Which sultry day can never break
And darkening night never conceal?
I'd live that dream and never wake.
A Field
A breeze makes it way through the wilderness,
Frolicking with young boughs and virgin springs;
Bees descend from their high altars of gold
Like angels offering their sweet blessings.
I watch the dense-grown fields of lavender,
Smelling the sweet perfume their beauty yields.
Oh! how the scene brings back such memories—
Memories of those treading other fields.
David Gosselin is a writer, researcher and poet based in Montreal, Canada. He writes on Substack at Age of Muses.