Shy as the Wind of his Chambers
Swift as a Freshet's Tongue
So of the Flower of the Soul
Its process is unknown.
Shy as the Wind of his Chambers
Swift as a Freshet's Tongue
So of the Flower of the Soul
Its process is unknown.
I hide myself within my flower,
That fading from your Vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me --
Almost a loneliness.
To love thee Year by Year --
May less appear
Than sacrifice, and cease --
However, dear,
Forever might be short, I thought to show --
And so I pieced it, with a flower, now.
She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
She died at play,
Gambolled away
Her lease of spotted hours,
Then sank as gaily as a Turn
Upon a Couch of flowers.
Because the Flowers unafraid
May lift a look on thine, a Maid
Alway a Flower would be.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories