I think of thee
As the leaves are still turning
Soiled gloves lie there
As my knuckles begin singing.
And yet God has not said a word
About the deadest thing.
A fay
Free; without a rope.
Will you fall or fly?
Why am I not with thine?
Sparkling, waltzing and laughing
In the same suit.
They mate for ever
In silence and tears
My bride
In the broad shadow.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryPoetry by James Matthews includes all his best poems plus special previews of his new works
