Desolate Room
A winsome waxing crescent,
With a dangling sonata pathétique.
In my hollow room, sweet flashes of a floral essence.
Her presence is absent and my feeble heart is becoming more weak
A precious diamond was found but is now lost.
Asunder is this rare jewel,
Only my heaving heart can weigh the cost.
Now, here I sit in my desolate room.
Copyright © Stewart Watkins | Year Posted 2024
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