Soft the Hours all are Drifting,
Too Quiet, They, In Passing Be,
While I, in Languid Subterfuge,
Hide Not my Friendless Misery.
Shades of Colour Meld and Merge
Like Sorrow Melting Upon the Day;
Blank and Pale in Brightest Sun
Where Once Our Joy, Like Children, Played.
Now You’re Gone, As Stars of Night,
And Shapeless Pass These Stolid Hours;
Unfettered, Yet I Stand, Perplexed,
Having Lost Youth’s Blushing, Vibrant Flowers.
~Morgan~
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Beautiful Original Artwork by: Perla Marina at deviantart.com
Poet's Corner 