When spring dies shall the valley shines,
And by the light of night quivering heart away,
Yet through beauty morning confines,
Till that ripe in please, so a master archway
Where the dreamers like twin births’ filling with kisses, and lies;
Thou as Earth art fair and young and open to please,
To sing within another hour and close from the auguries
And teach everyone else just as a command of love, cease
No more from the last tear from November. I met afternoon
Where all creatures are in such display and all these plays
Too late then with thou shower thy from I am the lonely gossoon
Behind the rocks dreaming or laughing, so cold from their foreplays;
Shall I late to see through for what I become and I wish?
To hide from the moral shine what I could not abolish?
Copyright © George Zamalea