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MY Mind,when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and i am fain to list
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
And vexes me for reasons why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow;
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for praise.
(oh yeah i can be smart when i want to.....which isn't alot........die all momma's boys)
 SittingHere · Sat Apr 29, 2006 @ 06:21am · 0 Comments |
