I no longer watch the hands turn,
nor track the sun’s hot path;
day is here when his eyes return,
and night again when they depart.
Joy does not mean laughter, and
his yearning outweighing mine;
joy to me is when we’re silent,
and our hearts in tandem chime.
I do not rue that life’s rivers
will carry off my own life’s drop;
now blast youth and all to smither’s;
full of awe beside me he stopped.
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