day one and your sweet lullaby is hanging in the air;
a melodic voice of strings that symphonise even lovers of despair
day two and a slight shard of you glows and gives us below hope,
and read a story of passion - to tick the time that always grows.
day three and all our fingers at all could not wait,
and tap ever so lightly on the walls until cracks fall to slates.
day four and we convince ourselves we're almost halfway there,
the rising sun has no matter but the calender hanging on tapes.
day five, we're halfway, and I crook half a smile-
a smile that knows of all the shivers not further than a mile
day 6 and we count our toes in focus of our minds
that swirl to all the thoughts that overlap yet fill our hearts.
day 7 and it almost seems that we're a second away,
we hurriedly read the lines of the chapter to flip to the next page.
day 8 and all clocks stop, but why doesn't the world?
*because the day must go on
and your voice that i long for,
is no more a sorrow bird.