Armour
Do not now weep for me,
My rivers run clear,
Sangfroid creeps over sea,
No storm shall I fear.
Wherefore art thou, my love?
Trees of oak lie bare,
Naked with me, above,
Out of earthly glare.
Armour gathering dust,
No mortal concern,
Quarrels left out to rust,
I, of soul, return.
Copyright © Kate Davies | Year Posted 2023
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