The Nacreous Oughts

07 April 2009

"The Great Ailment"

Compounded of pure caprice & winter sunlight,
She can't suspect how hard she is to follow.
Sometimes i fall behind. Sometimes i lose her
And gaze with longing eyes at the moon's ice halo.

A wiser man than i might fear to choose her
Lapidation softly by void's-pillow;
All i have done is claim my stolen sunlight
And winter caprice once promised me on furlough.


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