Monday, February 06, 2012

By the child...

When balming all my hundred pains
When mending quilts of warmth
When writing tales of unlit lanes
When winters play in North.

When trying to boon the haughty banes
When lighting young candles aloud
When thunder sings in dancing drains
When waters wash me proud.

When birds bring home the golden grains
When squirrels sketch delight
When meaning ceases to embrace the chains
When solitary walks the night.

When in love the happy rains
With the tall grey lofty clouds
When thunder sings in dancing drains
When waters wash me proud.





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