 |
| Can it be that it is only early afternoon?
Already birdsong has flown in my veins, An unrushed sense of calm, like dusk. Already I have met my radiant beloveds On the bridge of early afternoon, finesun Pollened joy afloat around us all and this Time, when they gently turned to leave, Untainted beauty graced their wake that Even yesterday I could not bear to offer Or allow, for what would happen if I set Them free, these worthy souls, to travel Far beyond my realm of grief and pain? Can it be that I am not a martyr to my Self but a lover of my soul and theirs? Can it be that it is only early afternoon And birdsong in my veins has spoken? |
 |
| *image: Lee Bogle |