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The Oracle...So the oracle spoke of a day to come
in a place I cannot quite recall,
where burnished leaves lay in drifts
beside the cobbles in the Fall.
"A beauteous time indeed," quote she,
and doubt I not a single word
which ever she uttered unto me.
Shadows danced in the golden rays
filtering down from the tangled bows
of towering oaks in a lucid haze.
The fountains murmur carried soft
upon the lightly flowing breeze
to alight on my attentive ear,
along with the stirring Autumn leaves.
"She'll arrive an omen from swirling mist,
or an angel's legend straight of myth,
to bind thy soul with hers through all;
where hand in hers, thou shall be led,
and whatever the girl's fetching phrase,
t'will catch thy breath for all thy days,
no matter how oft her words be said.,"
quote the oracle, as my heart she read.
The chapel doors open stayed
to admit each guest in turn delayed
by the two who slowly walked before,
as the bride and groom's progression made.
...So the oracle spoke of a day to come,
from a place I cannot quite recall;
in a dream of which I never had,
yet her words unchanged by the fact at all.
Poetry written by: Bryan Garaventa; all rights reserved. No unauthorized reproduction or distribution is permitted without prior consent. If you would like permission for either of these purposes, or for any other reason, please click here to inquire further.
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