What sayeth love of gentle plume
Be you the sands that cross the glass
or more likely waters never grasped
Slipping silently as moments as years
As life itself away from me; forever
What melody is woman, what fine design
To be heard in the spring of youth
But I, the scoundrel, the rogue did not hear
Oh wasted life, such bitter silence
That I've clung to
What strength hath man in blindness
That he may `ere feel his wounds
Save the beating of his hollow heart
The yearning of forgotten loves
When spring has long been past
Personal journals are full of potential, waiting for you to add the color! Pages for you to fill in the blanks with tidbits and trivia about North Dakota
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Be always safe,
Karen
Your beautiful words tell a beautiful love story.
Mary