i.

As she's in the land of Nod,
rustling azaleas in her 
ancestral awe. She don's
the ensemble for the next
morrow.

ii. 

Her body like a cradle
Rocks back and forth
As a swaddling babe;
She's musing of ourn 
Meeting, and it's 
Patient way's.

iii.

Tis I as well who see-
saw's in mine bed, 
Pretending she is
Next to me, swaying
the thread's, peeping
out mine window,
Awaiting her wake;
Counting down the
Hour's, to seeith 
Mine Angel's 
Face.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley ( àgapi mou dedication)