Flushed With Toil At A Tender Night Poem by Edmund Wong

Flushed With Toil At A Tender Night



The sun, flushed with toil, is slowly leaving his watch,
As tenderly the moon reveals her curve.
Has it been five days since I last saw you?
I do not readily recall,
Nor have I kept any count at all;
Why should these cold numbers matter,
When every moment my heart slumps in lament
Of your absence, but like a feather
It dances around in your sight,
Till it falls on you again some other night?

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