ee punye…

Hope is a thing with feathers, which perches in the soul, sings a tune without words, and never stops at all. And sweetest, in the gale, is heard and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that keeps so many warms. I’ve heard it in the chilliest land and on the strangest sea yet, never, in extremity it ask a crumb of me.

Counting days…

Filed under: Weblogs — queenster at 10:08 am on Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Ringkiss_1
Z****,
I miss you.

I miss your warm eyes,
the way you listen and care.
I miss your kisses
and all that we share.

I miss you.

I miss the touch of your hand,
so reassuring and sincere,
and the moments we spend together,
that I hold dear.

I miss you.

I miss all of the caring
things you do,
and spending the evening
alone with you.

I miss you.

I look forward to tomorrow
knowing that then,
I’ll be one day closer
to seeing you again.



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