But when the time is right, when
the moon cries on autumn leaves,
I want to be your bard, your song,
to be your smile, to be your wine….
May sweetness drip upon your lips,
let softest zephyrs lift your hair
A poet’s hand to hold in yours,
a poet's voice caress your soul….
And when the singing time is done,
when shadows flee to winter's end
When springtime's blossoming’s begun,
the summer poet's song is sung….
When Shadowlands’ dark moon’s arisen,
my joy you’ll be to sing my heaven
And when my kiss has gather’d yours,
then love’s not lost—in truth, is given
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
But when the time is right, when
the moon cries on autumn leaves,
I want to be your bard, your song,
to be your smile, to be your wine….
May sweetness drip upon your lips,
let softest zephyrs lift your hair
A poet’s hand to hold in yours,
a poet's voice caress your soul….
And when the singing time is done,
when shadows flee to winter's end
When springtime's blossoming’s begun,
the summer poet's song is sung….
When Shadowlands’ dark moon’s arisen,
my joy you’ll be to sing my heaven
And when my kiss has gather’d yours,
then love’s not lost—in truth, is given
