The Thought of Her I Cannot Touch
The thought of her I cannot touch
Though daylight’s shadow’s stirring such
That mystic gleam of fickle night
Whose depthless colour finds delight
A glimpse of her I cannot keep
No more than shards of vesper’d glee
Splashed across ole midnight’s sea
Have flickered through eternity
The wisp of her I cannot feel
No more than autumn in the world
When leaves have fallen on the rye
Golden brown beneath the sky
The name of her I dare not speak
When angles do for virgins weep
Their tears but riffles in the night
Of rose like crimson on the rise
When brakes a blushing in the sky
Beyond the hills to steal the night
The thought of her I cannot touch
No more than words can utter such
Like gentle kisses of a rose
Whose peddles sail betwixt the shoals
And sailing then beyond the sea
Shall bloom again resplendidly.
Copyright © Bruce Creech | Year Posted 2015
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