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277 · Oct 2018
The Meaning
Shawn Robertson Oct 2018
I know not the meaning in a day,
nor the lingering summers ray,
oh!-how its warmth and glint decay,
upon that deep and lonely blue bay!

I know not the meaning in a night,
nor the winter moon above in flight,
too soon will it wane from my sight,
beyond that cold dark mountain height!

I know not the meaning in death,
to live!-to love!-and lie beneath,
that wind tattered autumns heath,
I fear!-my hearts last shallow beat!
267 · Oct 2018
A Friend
Shawn Robertson Oct 2018
Do not fear the lonely night,
We shall sing of joy,
Beneath the moonlight.

Dare not quiet the sad tears,
We shall greet them,
With laughter and cheers.

Curse not the broken heart,
We shall mend it,
With comfort and a new start.

Dread not the sunken soul,
We shall lift it,
With the dawns warmth and glow.

While hope at times may seem,
But a distant dream,
A good friend always, I will be.
220 · Oct 2018
Loves Goodbye
Shawn Robertson Oct 2018
Hand in hand we walk by,
the flower shop between,
unknown to loves goodbye,
a rose I bought for thee....

Such a smile of thine so bright,
dims the sun aloft in the sky,
and all that shines amidst the night,
withers beside thy gleaming eyes;

In thy soft voice cupid whispers,
a love's eternal paradise,
that no winter or desert piers,
nor the low moon is slight to prize.

Thy heart, thy soul, a golden stream,
of beauty so fair and so deep,
and by that brook, thy love a dream,
once known to me--now begs me weep!

For neath the sky that summers night,
a wind blew thee away from me,
as heaven above us in spite,
stole thy heart and our love to be.

And though my soul by sorrow nursed,
'tis the sun that shows me of shine,
because it reminds me of thine,
and though our love is dissevered,

They cannot dissolve thee from mine,
and when my fortune hath decline,
and on my limbs the sun belie,
together, forever, we'll fly.

Tears in tears I walk by,
the graveyard beneath,
beknown to loves goodbye,
a rose I brought for thee....
195 · Dec 2018
Defeat
Shawn Robertson Dec 2018
Bereft!-My soul hath shriveled neath,
hopes last rock and last gleaming feat,
for this world mires a pain that doth,
squeeze that hour of foul defeat!

— The End —