Sitting on a hill of daisies, gazing down on the road below
what do you see?
Yellow house with white trim seems to hover in the distance
shrouded in mist.
You seem so at peace here, why do I feel such
melancholy?
Long hair blowing gently in the unseen wind,
pale lips unkissed.
Melancholy, or fear? In subtle disguise. Unfooled by your innocence
or soft aura.
No. It's not fear that draws me here nightly, but your
silent allure.
And ghostly smile, beatific as that of Botticelli's
faded Flora.
And though when I reach for you I touch only emptiness my
passions endure.
At least for another day. I know I'll be with you again
ere tomorrow.
And when I next join you for our silent vigil I
know what I'll see.
That we are, each of us, essentially forever alone with ourselves,
to our sorrow.
No matter this time shared on a hillside overlooking
eternity.
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