The finest woman you'll never see
Is singing close and distantly
In a cavern whispering
By a fountain in the forest eaves
Will you always stand alone
by the waters and the moon?
Will you be returning soon,
Will you lead your poet home?
Love can make a man go mad
In poets such madness is terminal:
She stares full face into my eyes
Says, "This is your birth or your funeral."
Her smile's a holy sight,
A reward beyond imagining;
We rise to love then fall to die
And I
I write verses for you others sing.
(C)2018-2020 by W.G. Milne
No comments:
Post a Comment