The Piper

Into the street a woodland-scented sound
came thrilling with a sylvan charm
Who wrought that balmy filigree
spun sugary and roughly tuned?

I stood arrested in my thought
Sight searched up for a seraph
down for a wandered dryad
trapped in the city web

There sat earth’s unpolished piper
lord of the bakery corner
His Lady snug beside him
munching cakes from on the paving

He with notched nose and patchy jacket
woollen hat and wary eyes
Pausing once to arrange a blanket
once to fondle the ears of his dog


Sumangali Morhall
February 2005







 
Photograph by Pavitrata