ever present
heart-ache
I cannot shake the
best thought of you
(my every-summer-night)
how long before the
dream has given up
on possibility?
I will be very old -
these birds upon the
window gone the
way of wintered sleep
the glade laid bare by
sweeping icy wind
but here you lie within
'til cold retreats and parts
heart-ache
I cannot shake the
best thought of you
(my every-summer-night)
how long before the
dream has given up
on possibility?
I will be very old -
these birds upon the
window gone the
way of wintered sleep
the glade laid bare by
sweeping icy wind
but here you lie within
'til cold retreats and parts
arrested by a
warmer hearth
No comments:
Post a Comment