Reyvrex Questor Reyes


Trish


She came wrapped as a Florence Nightingale,
Or Naiad of many a dreamland stream,
Whose tunes among the songbirds never pale,
Which may yet overshoot into your dream;

I grant I know not which music to hear,
As intoned in her speech were symphonies
That play much louder with her coming near,
A fitting source of future memories;

But songs are heard as well though yet unsung,
Her eyes could send afloat the notes somehow,
The same as by her name some bells have rung,
What sheer imagination can allow;

When salves fall short of healing for a while,
Greenland finds no balm better than her smile.

Submitted: Thursday, December 12, 2013
Edited: Monday, March 31, 2014
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