Among your many admirers, all who flock and hang on your every word, who laugh and call your name out loud sits one, like a shadow on the wall: a drink his only company all night, and regardless of what you say or do keeps a watch on your every move, Till, when the juke box comes alive Drums beat, bass strums, he turns to the window and recalls the light blotted out by the approaching storm and disturbed by your dancing moving form thinks of the poems he has yet to write.
Forever ours is love
but we are men of shells;
and passing years and days
are silver-sounding bells.
Returning joys are dreams,
and age embraces sleep
where bygone youth and love
are burning bright and deep.
Love is long and death is brief;
for naught is death, but love is time
in selflessness becoming grief,
splendid, sacred and sublime.
Reversible Verse