Inspiration does not come floating by every night,
Especially when nights-
Are dark and starless.
They have a gloom and shadowy despair
Written into them.

Yet at times - on the chilled, damp breeze
Wafts in,
A whiff of melancholy joy.

The haunting notes of a solitary flute,
Accompanied by nothing
But the silence of the night
And the laughter of my soul.

In the melody I see -
A brook tripping along a green hillside,
Gently, ever so gently,
The sparkling wind echoing across the valley
Covered in flowers,
Glimpsed in that ever fleeting moment
As the clouds parted below.

And even when the flute has ceased
To make any more music,
The sounds linger on
In my soul.
As if the echoes from the mountain
Have found an answer in my heart.

Then I put pen on paper,
To capture a moment of liquid joy,
That dropped into my existence
On a chilled and starless night,

As I sat listening to the flute
Of a shepherd boy on a hillside...

This is so Romantic, and I mean a capital R, as in Romanticism. Beautiful images you draw here:

To capture a moment of liquid joy,
That dropped into my existence

Thanks for an inspiring read.

K.Q.

Beautifully done, Sahana, those on this forum who don't read every poem are missing something. Bravo!

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Les