Oak Cradle
By Tatiana Pahlen

I dreamt of you before I learnt to walk;
I lingered till dusk embraced my bedroom
Envisioning your tranquil fingers' strokes
rest on my head. I savored their fragrance
along with the smell of balmy ancient oak
That came entirely from a tiny square cradle,
Where I have pined alone.

I listened to the tales of Babylon;
I tried the waters of the Euphrates River,
Where reigned unyielding handsome God, Marduk
who turned the stream of the raging Tigris backward
that King Nebuchadnezzar overlooked;
He lost his bride to a rampant yellow fever;
His pain soars in my soul.

My heart gets saddened every coming fall
I bear tears when the leaves start changing colors;
Your pictures show I obtained your mole,
you never had a chance to be so proud of.
I dreamt again you watched me growing old;
Your fragrant hands brushed through my silver curls . . .
I slumbered in my cradle
that smelled like ancient oak.

August 31, 2002

© 2002 Tatianyc. All Rights Reserved.