O
ruby star flare! Dim not your gaze
when
the glad tree is shorn of grace
and
doves part wings all fair with hay
in
a drear barn that bore our salve.
O
fire tip dart to pluck my soul
if
rust eats holes so new love cries.
I
pine for bliss; come melt this life
and
let me waltz with your fond kin.
beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThis is one of the main reasons I want to live in a seculded land away from tall buildings, because I want to see stars every night before I go to sleep. I love the imagery in this poem.