Euphoric Autumn; Winter; Spring
Elation by the Summer wrought
But happy mem'ries to my soul do bring
Melancholy, tearful thought.
Now love in purest form was grand:
Patient, kind and ever true,
But love lost finds an empty hand
Far more bitter than pulchritude
A sickly stride, a hollowed heart
Countenance: despondent, gray
Trembling hands, they'll call this art
Buckling knees as prey I pray:
Father, heal my broken spirit now
Mend me to my former state
With rattled weeping; sweat drenched brow,
Restore my priv'ledge to elate.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.