A.B. Poem by james watkin
A.B.
By chance, this delicacy
Of your overall nature
Is not irregular worn;
Nor quaint, above the azure
Your approachable sunshine
Heaven cultivates, in souls
What of retrospect will be
Left to discern you, when tolls
My re-birth's flight in pursuit?
"My eyes, my eyes, shed will they
Your fervour's distinguishing
In green flames. Your heart's path-way! "
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: heaven,reunion
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9/23/2024 4:53:55 AM # 1.0.0.1119
