Blue Note
The trees no longer show to me
Their stamp of wondrous sanctity.
The whistling winds that nightly sing
No longer peace and solace bring.
The tumid sea so cold and deep
No longer lulls my soul to sleep.
The twittering birds so high on air
With me no longer songs do share.
The soul grown brittle from despair
Tries and tries but does not care.
Copyright © Frank Desena | Year Posted 2009
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