And all but hear


Shall cease;
Some day,
For aye,
This heart shall rest
In peace.
Sometimes -- ofttimes -- I almost feel
The calm upon my senses steal,
So soft, and all but hear
The dead leaves rustle near
And sign to be
At rest with me.
Though I behold
The ashen branches tossing to and fro,
Somehow I only vaguely know
The wind is rude and cold.

Reader Comments