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Sometimes I find myself lost
Hush, my love, hush
In the thoughts of others and
It isn't long now
I find I fall in love with 4 AM
For soon the birdies wake
Whose silent voice does speak
And the moon must partake
And sing the gentle songs of sleep
*In his final, lonely bow
The idle ghosts of innocence
Dance sweetly in a silhouette of sun;
Teasing tiny palms, they shimmer
As tempting gold specs of treasure,
And as he plants these small seeds
I sometimes sense Time seethe --
*Fickle is man if he cannot see,
Of remembrance, dust is currency!
 Jul 2014 Charlotte Grace
Weasel
Roses always wither
Before I've even had
A chance to enjoy them
Which usually makes
The Weasel feel like cryin'

{ Weasel }
This poem is true!
I have always noticed that roses wither too quickly.
Thanks for reading.
Poem 13
© The Weasel
All rights reserved.
 Jul 2014 Charlotte Grace
Weasel
Usually when you
Think of nights, folks
You think of a full moon
Being in the sky
But there's nothing
But total darkness

{ Weasel }
True!
There's no full moon tonight here where I live.
Poem 16
© The Weasel.
All rights reserved.
Every night I lay in bed
(missing you)
Just staring at the ceiling
(wanting you)
Thoughts of you fill my mind
(thinking of you)
All I want is for you to be laying next to me
(needing you)
I think they call it Love.
Love is what this must be.
Only an Angel can cause these feelings,
Very deep inside of me.
Eternity with you?
Yes. You and only me.
Observing life with you,
Understanding what happiness can be.
Restfulness while I'm in your arms,
And recklessness when I'm away.
Coping when I'm not with you.
Hoping to see you another day.
Evidently, this feeling has quietly taken over me.
Love is what this is, love is what this must be.

— The End —