It is one thing…

for laundryshapedsouls

It is one thing to spot a blooming gift,

And quite removed to drink that drunken glaze;

Yet it is so that every passing day

Doth teach us treasure what we have. So, swift!—

The year’s at end—and fallen are the leaves

That hid mine eyes. Then I can gladly say

That I have spot that growing interplay

Of shared delights and times of parting’s grief…

It is in morning that we hope for dusk,

And fete this present tied to aching pasts.

The Moon races along; she sings for us!

The heavens turn to rain our starry dust.

This joy I find, I wish to you as thine.

My shepherdess, my butterfly—be mine!


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