My lovely rose pines for me
As would a thrush for the evensong
Her smile so beautiful that I wish to see
But a reflection of her in the sun kissed clouds above
I am back in England again, as winter sets in and the migratory birds fly off to warmer climes, I am exiled to this bleak dreary land, where the sun rises at 8 and sets at 4. More painful to me this time, is this journey because of my heart I can feel no sign, having left it back to pine in my own land.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment