On this day I’m all alone
The object of my heart has flown
To distant southern climes
Leaving me with art and rhymes
To host the ghosts and the daemons
Which these days attend your season.
I have given honor, written sonnets
Offered love, no conditions on it
True in body heart and mind
All things men claim they want to find
But can not see, or will not trade
For selfish hollow lives they’ve made
Full of words but lacking deeds
Bereft of trust and full of needs
How many of your days must I endure
‘Till love, or death perhaps, becomes secure.
In my introduction to this blog I promised poetry- what better time of year to start! I promise something more cheerful for the day itself!