Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Adapted from Touched with fire, Literature 2005
The Going
why did you give no hint that night
that quickly after the morrow's dawn
and calmly as if indifferent quite,you
would close your term here, gone
where i could not follow
with wing of swallow
to gain one glimpse of you ever anon
never to bid goodbye
or kiss me the softest call
why do you make me leave the house
and think for a breath it is you i see
at the end of the alley of bending boughs
where so often at dusk you used to be.
Till in darkening dankness
the yawning blankness
of the perspective sickens me.
fanaticme->11:12 PM