The gloom of solitude fills my mind
With images unbeknownst to me:
Someone's loving arms with mine are twined. . .
And yet I know no such entity

Pausing to admire the meadow rue
My love and I share a brief caress;
O, the loving moments that ensue . . .
But when have I known such happiness?

Wintry nights find me in total bliss . . .
Making love before a blazing fire;
(Just as sure as logs sputter and hiss,
This is but a glimpse of wild desire)

From where do these taunting portraits come?
The mind's workings are not always wise.
But should the starved heart not take the crumb
That would save it from tragic demise?