By Everett Finckbone
without much sleep I take;
my life, my heart, my love at stake.
My muse wakes me from my slumber,
without many dreams must I lumber;
about you, my would be lover, I begin to wonder.
What would your teachings have wrought,
that is the question that I have thought;
Would my life be as a drought?
My life, my loyalty, my love could have been yours,
if you would but left open the doors;
I would have lain supplicant upon your floors.
I would have given my heart as token,
if love would be but spoken;
only to save it from being broken.
In my heart there is sadness true,
for the lost chance of loving you;
oh, but if love could be begin anew.
