Beggars And Queens Poem by James McLain

Evening comes less frequently, all the time.
True night it seldom does unless I have.
It used to be more crowded.
Light my sky it is much less and more is less.
Until I gathered you into my arms.
Until you opened, and I reached in to gather up.
Until I find a way to stop your coming.
You find the sun is at your finger tip but.
Out of reach of common mortal man,
and to tease is not to teach to kiss until the end.
My would be bags to you are heavy and my staff is worn.
Each not more than one that waits again,
and to the beggar I am he for you he patient waits.
Thus it can not be, by any said and one has said,
and like the finger in the wound.
I pressed to hard to make it bleed and it would not.
When it does I did not know the time it was at hand.