He whispered of a love,
beyond his grasp.
Like a flower in full bloom,
yet only his eyes to please.
For in its thorns,
you will surely bleed.
And while he waited in concealed agony,
The moon would weep by his side,
Til' the sun rests on its haven.
Til' the brook would have no song.
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 9:13 AM UTC
He whispered of a love,
beyond his grasp.
Like a flower in full bloom,
yet only his eyes to please.
For in its thorns,
you will surely bleed.
And while he waited in concealed agony,
The moon would weep by his side,
Til' the sun rests on its haven.
Til' the brook would have no song.
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