Peter S. Quinn Poems

My breast is full of song,
With faith I sing to thee;
Like days that move along,
I call and hope to be.
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There is no one way to do or weigh
If it were it would become boring
Emptiness on its emptiness day
For people in sleepiness snoring
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Summer is going with comely branches
Turning back into the dark moments mode
With thoughts of flowers in numbly chances
The slow half light voices of winter's ode
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In to the night my dreams go
Light that is mellow and falling
I have forgotten their glow
And each footstep strolling
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Days are coming
Clear to the night
The sideways are humming:
'To the left - to the right
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I have always loved you
In every sense of that word
From indoor it come trough
Sometimes not to out heard
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Give me time to be
Give me time to live
Give me time to see
Give me time to give
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There are the days
That you and I know
The playfully ways
Of winter's coming snow
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Á svörtu söndum
þar sem hafið nú syngur
haust sinfóníu
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Why does humanity go by like this?
Opportunity becomes nothing
In its to and fro epoch prospect swing
From care taking to its final remiss
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