Warning: Amphigorical Content!

grubby grists of euphuistic prolixity

Friday, 23 September 2011

faren wel

your eyes now old, still clear and bright
the body, toils of war made slight
this hand I hold, tho' frail, yet warm and light


exchange no words of consequence
against your gaze I've no defence
our common loss becomes uncommon sense


the years between hold us in thrall
we miss the night's last footsteps fall
my friend, oh were you ever really here... at all?


alone I watch the dawn ignite
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Spagphacious Aeolotony by Philip Damian-Grint is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-No Derivative Works 2.0 UK: England & Wales License
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