Hot, as if drawing ever near to thee;
On thy shoulders broad, doth rest
Its beam, nay oft forgiveth He.
Dost thine current rushe forthe
upon mine feet, O stream?
Or speaketh in soft monotone
Of a past left n'er to be told?
For the shale which we shall beholde
As thyne clock: for the years are
as of water swift, and thyne love
is her contoured stone.
I, too, enjoyed this one very
I, too, enjoyed this one very much.
J-Called
Very beautifully written!
Very beautifully written!
Thank you
for reading and for the compliment.
Love the language you use
Love the language you use here...'old worldly' like.
Nice piece, William. I enjoyed the soft flow of this delicate write.