In A November Day.
I am troubled in my dreams, troubled to wake up
cause fate gives no answer, no prize.
I turn to you in my choked silence
when every struggle brings only defeat
no secret, no light and nothing to tell.
With white cheeks, with clenched hands
here in the quiet limit of my world
I listen to thy folded wings, so heavy
to bare your solemn thoughts
when words cannot picture my blind loss.
The wild roses and vine, are withering
slowly much like my bright breast,
shortening my sighs my air and my steps
And all too important to miss
in the days caught in a vague shimmer .
A soft morning sky blows the clouds apart
stealing the mysterious gloom,
the glare in those tremulous eyes of yours
that beat me down from my wills
thy presence, thy pure brows of security.
Now with kisses balmier than a whispering sigh,
softly warm like the skin of a child,
That is my gift to shake off the darkness
to make lively curls into sunny smiles
before thy half-opening lips know,
what is sweet and what is wild.
In a November day.