Upright standing on far, distant shores
Doth it be my old friend there
Over the sea?
Standing quietly grown out of books I write
Do they find any favor in your one eyed sight?
They that condemned me and laughed
With devouring looks
Because you never admired my books.
Oh I like you, sweet side seen
Hidden to others, yet only for me.
With heavy hands and muses.
Copyright © ANDREA TRAVIS | Year Posted 2015
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