I miss him
he was the poet in my poetry
the leaves of my poet tree;
and now this winter is so barren.
˜
I miss him
like the flowers miss the springtime
like the nightingale misses its song;
and this silence is a deafening cacophony.
˜
I miss him
and I long to hear the nightingale sing
rather than recall it from memory..
before it becomes an unfamiliar fragrance
in my garden.
˜
I miss him.
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
I miss him
he was the poet in my poetry
the leaves of my poet tree;
and now this winter is so barren.
˜
I miss him
like the flowers miss the springtime
like the nightingale misses its song;
and this silence is a deafening cacophony.
˜
I miss him
and I long to hear the nightingale sing
rather than recall it from memory..
before it becomes an unfamiliar fragrance
in my garden.
˜
I miss him.
http://skyblueandblack.com/2015/02/01/i-long-to-hear-the-nightingales-song/
