At The Cottage

This poem was written as a prequel to Robert Browning's Porphyria's Lover as part of a workshop at Mexborough Read To Write in August 2017. 

The original is here: Porphyria's Lover - Poetry Foundation

At The Cottage

I spiral with indecision;
The rain falls in the distance
as the Banshee howl of the wind
rattles the trees and whips the reeds;
I must hasten my step
though it will reach me soon enough.

This thing I carry within  -
I wonder if he knows?
He has been so distant; now he is so close.
Can he tell, for I do not dare,
that something we share
relentlessly, incessantly grows?

I saw him out riding, urging onward his grey;
they vanished before I saw who he chased.
If I can't be his, and his alone,
Why must I desire him so?

At the cottage:
Lilies on the dark, rank pond;
bees swarm on the woodland sage.
God has not answered my fevered prayers
so this, this, is a destiny of my choosing
for I could turn at any time.
I observe a bird on the path, wing broken.
I try to help it but grab only dirt
as it flaps to the dark undergrowth
to accept its fate, as now must I.

The time is nearly come
when we might be as one

Tim Fellows 2017