At Sunset

Doubtless, my love for her will die,
As this sunset dies. The sky goes dark,
It's beauty, like hers, begins to fade,
And the decades of care, which I have
Known, will wither her spirit, the thing
I love, leaving her dull, as I have become,
And unlovable possibly. Who can say?
She is gone. I won't see her, and what
Will remain are these poems, which
We may review sometime in the darkness,
(Though separately), seeing them then
As memorials to that which has died.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 46 times
Written on 2010-03-31 at 22:41

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