It's been years, or decades as I should say,
And it will take more to see one sight of her, I realized to my dismay.
Not even the birds now come oft to my windowsill,
They gaze at the veranda, longing for her steps, my eyes desperate and still.
I have made the supper, but naught can fulfil the starvation of her presence,
I shall open the wooden drawer where her photograph lies, to embrace the handkerchief, it has her essence.
Oh, good lord, this very girl has me bewitched with her charm,
She better be forever in my stars; else I shan't hesitate to carve her lines upon my palm.
I know little how to pour my heart on this paper but oh, the changing night sky, deliver it to her moons and stars,
For my heart doth bleed for her presence, with a thousand cuts and a hundred million scars...
YOU ARE READING
Vagabond
PoetryIt is a compilation of all the poems written by me. I mostly write in one genre - Romance, of all forms. The unique thing about my writing? I write in somewhat of a fusion of old English literature style and modern English. So stick around and feel...
