My brain burns with hate of you.
I am like a green field swept by scorching wind,
Everything withers.
There is nothing left of promise
But black death. Yet in my heart is our eternal love,
Hard and pure as a moonstone,
And like an opal,
Subtle with change.
(Anna Wickham)
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Based on Topics: Love Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Change Poems, Promise PoemsBased on Keywords: moonstone