Sometimes I Think Poem by Nero CaroZiv

Sometimes I think; I would not categorize myself as a mood of sour;
That your love hath been so steady and sweet; just not long ago,
A fountain coming down from mountains heights;  a migrating bird at winter cold,  at my door,
That your love mainly goal was to haste to peeks and keep flow
And flow it did; in sickness and in health; not taking heed
Of its own bounty,  or the boundaries of my need.

Countless were the happy moments did I count!
Blest was I then in heaven all bliss above!
Now, for that cherished fount; when love did flaunt and taunt
The murmuring, sparkling, living love,
What have I left with? shall I dare to consider and to tell?
A comfortless? or a reflection of love past and hidden quite well.

A well of our love; we so crave together it may be deep
I always thought it is; a one that never did rebel or mutiny
But yet if the waters within the well know no storm and does idly sleep
In a strange cold unfamiliar silence; a potential prelude to tyranny
Such change, and at the very my door
Of my heart,  had made me strangely sour in soul


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