Long after we spoke
I reflect your glow
like the moon lovely
shining white as pure snow
The lovely night
passes by in all her glory
I notice but for a moment
for lost I am, in all that reminds of you
In the brook's Jingle
I hear your laughter clear
funny I must be
in your dreams, dear.
Your hair-tie, I bet
Must be off, in your slumber -
blackest night in the book
is it here-on every glade and bower.
Sound asleep miles away,
arms wrapped round near and dear
your body's warmth, still I feel
in the cold night here.
You in your lovely repose
I try to imagine and fail.
who am I but a lowly word-smith
such worthy tasks make me quail.
one thing though, never tires me
spinning these threads a'glow
out of the worthless words
that do not express thee fully though.
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