a Summer Poet

a sad man on a summer day—

How think ye of her? in the long ago?

Does she think of you the way you think of her?

O solemn-beating heart,

for thought he never spoke,

of the shiny sun and the purple dusk.

This sad man fell bloody from his eyes,

build grave to lay down in his grief to die.

His thought from the blue sky under,

he bound it while his fear eyes shone up from cheeries to tearies.

a sad man on a summer day—

he asked in quite,

“wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?”

He lost her yesterday,

the little scare that fretted him.

He cast her all away,

the foolish fears of what might happen.

He cried her anyway,

the last time ever again before the purple dusk drowning itself eventually.

And yet if he seems alive with grieving still,

“but when the summer was past, i looked to heaven and smiled at last”.

… is by thee only, whom i love alone.