- Books, Literature, and Writing
Thy Rare Gift (Poem)
Doubting tendencies in suspension
For how long, who knows?
Not even I, who's in possession
Knows how thy "time" goes.
Every core longs for merely a taste
Of thy land's rare gift.
Though for thy sake, make waste not, nor haste
Nor thyself's adrift.
All the world says: "Life's but a segment
Of downfalls and dreams."
So are these fits of merriment
By one's lovely beams.
Soaring through skies of studded silver
Keep thee sane; stray not to night's shiver
Or downhearts' ever.
Now, go flee to where thy heart takes thee
And feast over love
With whom this rare gift is meant to be;
None's less nor above.