Call Me Ever-On
M
Mark Heathcote
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Her cerulean eyes a lake house
In the winter till the spring
I row to. And in my dreams,
I sink before I awake to second-think
how far from shore I've come.
Her eyes don't bring me
summer flowers wilting in the autumn.
These flowers are already spent
and are a long time gone.
But they haunt my bones nonetheless
and call me ever-on.
And once I'm there, nothing
frequently matters except
her welcome and knowing for a fact I am home.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş