It can be a wanting heart...
Leading our lonely to the meanest of streets
Yet, longingly from hill top above - this blood still steeps
Just same - as a summer's worriesome nightly heard sigh
This, an incoming vision from far, far away - seen is a Snow Fence as if it could cry
Yet , it was always an empty wind that rushes through these weathered pickets
That some now howl for the cold, cold company, for which they were purposed to keep