Monday, February 7, 2011

Tender Splendor

I know you meant it kindly, sir
The night that you came to me
The moon was calm
The wind was warm
Its magic blowing through me
Your hand was tender on my arm
Your voice; true poetry
I know you meant it kindly sir
The night you came to me

I know you meant each word you spoke
So free, so kind and gentle
But life had happened long ago
A firm and well-worn mantle
The moon was low
And in its glow
I glimpsed a teardrop gleaming
I wish you had come long ago
When I was young and dreaming

I know you meant each word you said
No dearer ever spoken
I'll wrap them 'round my heart instead
A timeless, precious token
Then, on some night
In pale moonlight
When all the world is sleeping
Their tenderness will hold me tight
In sentimental keeping


Sometimes it's the pictures that finds the poem......
and sometimes its the poem that finds the picture

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