| Did Cupid from me his eyes avert Or has my thirst for love dried up its lake? A lake� But for a fleeting moment did my eyes spot the promise of solace� A pool of tears remains. Yet it did to my grateful heart seem That to cries bright echoes cried. On a sisterly wind glided a vessel of import, Lifelong desired and homeward bound. Poor heart� Bear your toil and sound still, Lest you were not forged to beat alone. (June 1980) Copyright �2002 Olivier Serrat |
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