Whilst thou art far
from my lone painful heart.
Time doth dilate
in its lengthy wheeling cart.
The joys of a spring
elate me no more.
the flowers, the chirps,the wind, the grains,
the hint of thy face, all sour.
The days art not bright,
Darkest is the night.
Water quencheth my throat
Not the thirst of my sight.
Dreaded more my dreams art so whence
layeth a man in the shadow of thy hair.
Playeth with thy curls, the rose of thy lips.
My dreams art not true,
My dreams art not fair.
Whilst thou art near
my cheerful lively heart.
My clock ripeth away,
the entire of my past, my present apart.
The eerie winter dawn
concerneth me no more.
Thy lips-the petals, thy tresses-the feathers
thy eyes-the hearty ripples
on the river's lovely shore.
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