today, this day, we have, but others had them, too — a place midst moving out and holding still —the autumn sings a song of what is here and gone: a chorus we can hear, if we but willi loved you in my time, and you have loved me, too; our limits, each, like blankets …
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Come with me, my friend, and see the storied hills: For autumn’s full of love, and so are we, We restless searchers as we wander on Past strands of summer, cobwebs on our hearts. In setting out, we come to know what’s setting in: The furniture we’ve moved, the mental flummery We use in place …
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how could he know — that storm front of love in her was always in her and really independent of him? cynics say, “love is the illusion of togetherness”, but that’s not true. it’s the illusion of individuality but autumn is real, and feelings are real — while memories are really deceiving
the love the same the passions pure with lovers true but yet unsure it’s hard from here to know them there: but if they weren’t, we’d all be air
Picnic in the park, Friends and strangers met to eat -- Summer brought the sunshine But she brought The heat
Moments...
A on again, off again, thing.
there's little shelter to be found once ship has left the port; the elements will have their say and nature make its sport -- for trouble, and adventure, both can lead, or, devastate: and sailors no more dodge the wind than lovers hide from fate
To tell the story of a life Takes many pages, many words; To tell the story of a love Takes every bit as long The you I saw in summer fields Beneath an endless weightless sky The you I felt in tenderness The softness of your skin, a sigh For now, when I remember you …
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