What Isn'T

It’s almost gone, I see, I hear I shall perhaps wait it out with you, my dear; It scared me then, naught scares me now The sparkling of an even unknown The thin line that longs to know how. I will show it, and mayhap you? But the time is yet to come. Wait there, sit there, patiently Your finger that clasps your tongue. The sun is rising there beyond the hills The morning calls without sweetness Things fly about with eager shrills. It is why we wait, why we long For things that are not there Beyond the reach is a thrill Knowing the absence of a perfect pair Knowing that become, it never will.