The Font of Edith Morley

by Rhyme In Time

Across the street from where I work is Edith Morley Park. One of the park’s main features is a little rock-garden fountain. To celebrate the anniversary of the park’s dedication (and just because), here is a completely made up account of the fountain’s origins…

In golden vale, athwart a cull of ponds,
Embowered in lonely copse on verdant glade,
A well weeps swollenly on reedy fronds
Who bow beneath the press of heavy shade.

Upon this spot two barely budded boughs
Still green with Spring, a century afore,
Hid clasping and exchanging lovers’ vows
And talked of everything except the war.

The hours too quickly fled them as they lay.
And soon, too soon, upon the dew-damp lawn
Irascible imperator of day,
The sun, glared warning that their time was gone.

In foreign field a shell cut short his years;
This font is where she daily spent her tears.

(Photo by me. It’s hard to see the fountain and there is no water! But this awesome tree is right next to it and seems to solitarily gripe the soil in anguish, which is what gave me the seed of an idea for this poem. Plus the name “Edith Morley” sounds awesomely Victorian, as though from Dickens.) 

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