I sometimes think of her, my sweet
her gorgeous smile, tender lips,
to which my heart complete in love did beat.
Distant thoughts of a our glorious love
sweep my mind, like the white feathered dove.
Free and swift, she glides the thrift,
My sweet little bird, alone adrift.
Many tides have risen, only but to fall
the calming thought of us, a voice never to call.
A whisper in the night, a light to which I see no bright,
A calling to which the voice I speak, returns no answer
to that which I solemnly seek.
What love remains, shall live within
It's glowing power, continued, undiminished.
To her I say, your worth unknown
Is the love you missed, To be alone . . .
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