Thyme and Myrrh
During these days, she will call,
like years ago my scope to feel,
mizzle invitations in songs spiel,
and keep us in the rains of Fall.
And it will be a time to hold her,
embrace her soul in ocean mists,
and she will admonish our feasts,
my solitude of thyme and myrrh.
In ethers where Bells ring Holy,
Sunday morns our pictures flied,
dew drops on white blooms pied,
as my timed rhapsody run slowly.
In time she comes, to be blithe,
construct reality out of dreams,
noon sun light in ether will beam,
my retention of her figure lithe.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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