There is witchcraft in the skies,
as the clouds swallow
the empty spaces in between,
consuming it like a lover.


There is witchcraft in your eyes;
as they burn through mine
impatiently, ceaselessly;
a forest on fire.

Every night I lie awake and listen
To creaky doors and squeaky floors
'' 'Tis only the weather'', the wind sighs -
'' 'Tis only me on the moors.''

Every night the old house shakes
As if a ghost had cursed the walls;
'' 'Tis only the hymn of winter'', the wind sighs -
'' 'Tis only me who always calls.''

Every night I open the window
To absorb the distant cries of night
'' 'Tis only the time of year'', the wind sighs -
'' 'Tis only me taking flight.''

Every morning I gently awaken
To feel a glistening sun on my cheek
'' 'Twas only the wind,'' I say,
'' 'Twas, and 'tis always the wind.''

the passing cloud in pale blue skies
the ocean wide that drinks your eyes
the sailing storm one summer’s day
the rain to kiss the blush of May

You

the growing rose in winter’s frost
the secret smile no sight wants lost
the lonesome tree down by the lake
the breeze that makes its foliage shake

You

the touch that is with sunlight crowned
the voice in which the sea has drowned
the stare which makes the moon glow more
the long lost wave to kiss the shore

You

the distant sigh that calms the screams
the hidden glister among the beams
the unseen path amidst the vine
a love for which the dreamers pine

You.