Communion That No Mortal Hands Receive
C
Captain Cur
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Within these brooks that scent the tender eve
perfect themes of night unheard or seen
she waits upon the starlight and the breeze
that place between wakefulness and dream.
Her soft touch thrills the flowers and the trees
communion that no mortal hands receive.
Cursed always to repeat her lover's words
Echo opens her moonlit eyes and stirs.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş