they laugh, beam, play, bloom under the setting
sun. oh, such a close to a day lost to
romping through the meadow and forest green,
bursting with merry life like them. i do
relive that dream again, much joy, i see
their eyes piercing yet warmer than fire,
hair soft like flowers pressed in spring by thee,
when i was the only thing they desire,
and our arms wrapped ‘round each other tight.
to see you is to feel again. alas,
i miss thee more than diana’s moon bright
but through her quickly passing rounds, remain
i will steadfast to thee, my love, and soon
we shall meet again at lovely high noon.
Poetry