Thursday, November 12, 2009

Hurry

Make haste! Do not delay.
Fly swiftly off, go now that
you might the sooner stay.

Fly back to me on winged feet,
with this prayer beloved
I thus entreat.

I wait for you with wanting heart,
and lips and arms that ache
when we are thus apart.

All too soon our time is gone.
Too brief your touch, your lips,
and I again am all alone.

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