Daughter Of My Dearest,

Daughter of my Dearest, Take my hand as night has fallen and yesterday afternoons torrents have cleared the ways are you near when I come bye open your eyes. Freshly planted in ponds they come traces of new habitation, the red wing black bird ties each together the cat tails brown once green known as any writer could as the male sings the evening news in song and restores each white washed line of your letters in this your book. and More as mornings fresh sprinkled dew upon thy brow a hint of comets trails of golden dust sprinkled over the married line of dawn from dusk and as oil marks made full to receed on a lamp stand open windows bring it to view a brighter tint the yellow sun of your new early dawn. I look on from afar daring naught but I do asking of any news of the ruins concerning Sylvia their is your lovely habitant; but too what avail I can but feed my questions to crows upon rocks, it is that I am, but from you. and I am! But who are you for they know only naught to answer me and only by you do they echo the land as Ariel looks on is it stark? c.e.m 19 June 2010