---

To her I return

The one I adore

Of whom in long and silent yearning

A mere season, eternal seeming

I lay dead but dreaming

The night is a tapestry overhead;

Through forests and fields,

Loping in shafts of starlight.

There-

Just beyond the pathway's bend...

In her stead a stone

of sculptured ivy stands.

Numb.

My fingers trace the scars:

'Herself she lay in blissful state

Beyond the gate of slumber to wait

Until in sunlight again we meet

we shall forever weep.

She leaves us bereaved.'

Plucked and laid upon this grave,

pedals bruised and damp with rain

Of noisome tears that spread and stain

The lingering scent of fair-flowered grace.

Wilted;

Dead;

Amaranth face.

The sun has left me

I am empty

Bleeding black soil

Would that moon had sooner raised

Me from perennial fleshborne bane...

I will mourn this day.

Clutched to my breast, her florid remains...

The night has never looked so bleak.