Time

It is so many years

since I felt some part of me wane:

all those thousands of days

since we spoke of nothing -

could find no words;

and even many more

since there were whispers

as we lay naked in the night

or in the cottage garden

beneath the harvest sun

 

It is so many years

that I have known that dark void:

deep within my very soul

and in all those long days

not one has passed,

scarce a moment,

when I do not rejoice

at all each had of each -

every moment that we knew

in the sun, before these years

deathlovesharingtimeyears

◄ The Bench

Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel? ►

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