The Placid Sands

Why is it you have left me here?
The sands beneath your supple feet,
crying now from such cold a shear,
are now but delicately folded pleats,
remembering the soft step
of your lovely gait.

Looking out over the sordid skies,
my heart cries out for your embrace,
a solemn tempest, without reprise,
carrying memories, without time or place,
leaving me sorely empty,
without your grace.

Thoughts of how your eyes do burn,
like the blaze within the woodsman’s home,
radiating the warmth for which I yearn,
carried now by the ocean’s foam,
leaving me sorely empty,
for I am cold.

How your skin, carefully golden,
flaked with tinges of delicate rose,
much like the twilight of lazy Autumn,
more than ever, how I wish to hold
that delicate body,
with silent repose!

All I see now is the brilliance
of your subtly beautiful smile,
like the first few petals that dance,
when Spring is born, like a child,
the moonlight now pales,
how these thoughts beguile…

Now I am left feeling so cold,
amidst the sandy lane,
my memories that stood so bold,
have now slowly waned,
into the dark blue ocean,
from such memories, I must abstain.