We live our legends , the frost at midnight
The soft flowing babe of a cottage in sleep
A midnight’s soft embers tracing patterns.
We live old nature poet’s legends in rhyme,
Seeker of the unquiet thing of imagination
As midnight weaves a lace of window frost .
We then suspend all our disbelief willingly.
We believe in iterations of sound and quiet
By blank verse’s broken iambs and rhymes.
Our rhymes coincide with ancient mariner
With all his legends of nature in our bodies
While emotion is recollected in tranquility.
Frost lacework is hoary repetition in mind
We suspend our disbelief enough to create,
On a hot summer night, to re-live legends.
(Remembering Coleridge’s poem “Frost at Midnight”)