Sighs for broken skies allow wasted moments down beneath the sands of now to stay up late and shoot the breeze and acquiesce on tearful seas so loud they shroud the better sounds to which they should concede.
lonely left unheard beauty dies without a word.
sighs for broken skies abating; I no longer mourn tomorrows lost in sorrows, that were never waiting.
Like tussoh, I collect snow after the blizzard, churning the quartz, O December. Time to hang my boots and listen the call to quarters. Windows would kill me. I had my horrors I had my wine. The moon was still
John Walker served his country in WWII It was something he felt obligated to do. In combat he risked his life Even while he was facing strife He wrote his family back at home While he was on another roam
Melancholic – she be described He says, turn the curve my child Dances she, feet on thorn Refashion thy scorn Darkness, she, into the wild Beloved, behold – nature beguiled Cries she – eyes dry Withhold, let me sigh Not
For Lord’s exultant installation thou Singest for the performance at Ludlow, Of greatest Virtue that high Heav’n bestows On mansions virgin demoiselles doth house, That no temptation could utterly soil, No evil spirit ever durst to foil, Nor Circe’s son