This gentle rain patters upon the sill
misty are the window's eyes, so bleary
she rises from her garden of love's chill
of tousled leaves, yet she is so weary
As tiny droplets grace her face, so teary
when love has found the end, it met its die
loves her not, no longer loves her, dearly
closed upon his words, tis lust death, drew nigh
Upon his halt, upon his Arctic chill
a garden crushed, it is a gardner's fright
deep the freeze, his heart; yet hers won't still
for his touch in spite, for his touch in spite
As gentle rain patters upon this sill
her love for his waits; this love waits, until
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1 comments:
good one dear.
I missed you-am done with exams.havent been reading you for a while so i am a lil bit back-bt ill do just fine i need to catch up so ill go follow up some old posts
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