How each missive is missed
from you so long and long ago
this sadness only feels itself
in lonely thoughts of mirth
lost among years gone by
days hold hands with days
in endless chains of regret
endearments left pending
those antique roses near a fence
white and fragrant Victorian lucidity
an orange sun rising to morning's grace
as choir sings the beauty of  fortunes
bodies entwined as one vine of love
racks poor Cupid's soul in alarm
to launch a thousand thousand arrows
and bridge this melancholy sea
to find your eyes and pleasing face in welcome

-cec