Noto Bene
The light limps homeward
I have sundry thoughts of you
You would miss this too
The swallows calling
From the thatched roof of childhood
No moon rise tonight
Clouds are curtains here
Nor moon, nor joy can cross them
Owls mourn far away
I know you trembled
Not when sea-bound the willow wept
No diamond rot
Beautiful and bright
Are words defining coldness too
Or color of snow
My hostage thought yearns
For pillowed breast and good rest
The frail dream of you
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
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