Pup of my doggerels where words are groomed

“In eighty plus yard are deadleaves of yesterdays,

Thank God, no raking them called for;

And if the roof caves in and walls come down with it

Some bother it shall take off me.My soul shall take his ease

As was in the beginning of time”l

10.

Even so body craves though under rack/Reflexes for good or ill act/My feet unbidden had found their mark.

11.

A gust of wind! Oh shapes of dead slide past/My feet stood still yet in ascent/ Let the dead precede from first to last.

12

Along came the shepherd, who in descent/ Mindful of the flock set out to pasture/ Passed me by, a whisper, “I’m he who is sent.”

13

My ears caught the sound, and patois was sure/ My native tongue could have said it again/Alas, their import and context yet to inure.

14.

My musings fled, at the sound of the swain/The same shepherd alone, now stood above/ He came to the point “I’m your companion.”

15

“Beyond this port no man living may rove/ At ease, we sail across airy main,/Soul mates ordain’d by our Lord above.

16

Were there a glass held between the twain/Which is which form doubled for the other./E’en his voice, or was his, echo of mine?

17

5.

At a mountain’s foot stopped the path;/Valley below me struck fear but what gleam/Of light drew my eye pierce past airy swathe?

6.

What sparkled before me a seam/Wedged between outcrop and the sky-/ Was it an omen, or a parlous dream?

7.

Pause renders heart beats accustom their way/so panic gave way to a curious surmise/ Back and forth,-on slender thread did I sway.

8.

E’en as one finds feet, and heart still in repose/ The night set my reprieve as full favor shown-/ I recall them in their turn to state my case.

9.

In my mind’s eye how my feet moved on/ Along the precipice, across the winding path-/Drawn by an unseen roan,- it ne’er let me down!

Here is a translation of Canto-1 in terza rima. I hope to read the original so what I have given here is a blank verse translation into the same poetic form as Dante used.

Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
ché la diritta via era smarrita.

A pilgrim who misspent his life, half in despair/Through the woods of my own confusion/Without truth I am adrift unaware;

2.

Ahi quanto a dir qual era è cosa dura
esta selva selvaggia e aspra e forte
che nel pensier rinova la paura!

What the other half sets off is sensation/Awe, fear or loathing,- what is it?/My heart scarcely can bear dissension     

3.

Tant’è amara che poco è più morte;
ma per trattar del ben ch’i’ vi trovai,
dirò de l’altre cose ch’i’ v’ ho scorte.

What is past, no more worth a repeat,/ But along the way whate’er befell/Did my soul as with goodly repast;

4.

Expell’d from past and heart under the spell/Of some unseen spirit trailed its path:/Was it for woe, my soul could hardly tell.

5.

At a mountain’s foot stopped the path;/Valley below me struck fear but what gleam/Of light drew my eye pierce past airy swathe?

I hope give the rest leisurely as and when I can find time-benny

“Life has its passkey-

Dreams are ghosts that haunt those who

Let their own to rust.”

This is a comment I left on a visitor’s page today.