HANDS FALLEN
Hands fallen
Now only the old clock knows
What time of day it is. 7.3.89
The wind
caresses my face
with the passing fragrance
it steals from yours. 7.3.89
Your eyes are sad
I ache within
for the pain
you alone must know. 7.3.89
And for this time
a poem.
Gifts can rest awhile
my heart sings to you. 7.3.89