To One Who Only Tended to a Fold In quiet she so flattered would withdraw, to treasure lines his sonnet could convey -- as poetry of unrequited awe each line a budded stem of love's bouquet -- from proper distance giving due respect like sun that from on high had showered light as yearning for the smile she might reflect in moon becoming lustre of the night at window where she paused again to read, still clad in vibrant shades of peasant dress, bravado that timidity would plead as love she could not dream it would profess to one who only tended to a fold whose dowry was but beauty to behold. Portly Bard Portly Bard: Old man. Ekphrastic fan. Prefers to craft with sole intent of verse becoming complement... ...and by such homage being lent... ideally also compliment.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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June 2023
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