My Dear Poets
If I could compose a
symphony for thee, my dear poets,
twixt the heavens and
the earth we would dance.
A garth of stars would
gather about thy beauty, my dear poets,
Wilt thou be my love
for all eternity?
We shall hearken to
the ways of love,
ere we drift asunder,
holding only our hearts.
Forsooth, we never die.
Dost the seed knoweth the ways
in which it becomes a tree?
We too shall shed this mortal
form and thrive amongst
the forest of immortal beings,
my dear poets.
Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2019
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