Yesterday
when the evening wind dies
upon the mountain top,
when cold silence chills the night with her tongue,
when the shadows bid the forest be still;
i will return home to your arms
where dreams hatch
and the world is in a whisper lost.
when the morning sun stretches out the hills,
when nature` s voice charms
the pastoral landscape with tales,
and strews dead leaves upon the paths;
i will lodge between your breasts.
i will suck the honey of your breathe
and listen to the voice of spring
sobbing in the little trees.
when November bends the moon
in deep blue darkness,
when many a midnight star has shone,
i will return home.
i will return home.
i will return home to you by the riverside;
where once we made love
and the mortified waters,so cruelly moaned.
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