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03. 'Twas here, alone

by Philippa Jane

‘Twas here where my quiet love did die,
Eyes closed beneath an exit swift,
Along the road less traveled by,
Beyond a growing autumn rift.
Upon my final resting bed,
Was placed one wilting summer rose
To mark the throne from which he fled –
The solace Satan’s lover chose.
Sweet night, ‘twas you who held my grace,
Tears stained upon a lilac cheek,
For diverted was my culprit’s bleak face,
Eyes muting all now left to speak:
'Tis heaven where my love shall rest,
Loneliness my solemn guest.

03/31/2004

Posted on 04/01/2004
Copyright © 2024 Philippa Jane

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