On such a night as this I should be glad
And so I am; but love can be so cruel
As solitude unravels from a spool
Where memories both thrill and make me sad…
The want of what is not could drive me mad
On such a night as this thought is a thief
Stealing from garden’s of repose, its bloom
I hold it to my cheek; thought can’t exhume
What Time has buried in its swollen sheaf
We gather but to yield love’s joy and grief
On such a night I would not change a thing
For dearer than love’s smile must be its tear
And Time is but the tenure of a year
Where no one is immune to its keen sting
Of being both a beggar and a king
Janet Martin
No comments:
Post a Comment
I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!