Friday, 19 August 2016
Is it the hour? We leave this resting-place
Made fair by one another for a while …
The long road then, unlit by your faint smile.
Ah! The long road! And you so far away!
Oh, I’ll remember! but … each crawling day
Will pale a little your scarlet lips, each mile
Dull the dear pain of your remembered face.
Posted by †Seán Manchester at 02:38