Maybe.
In the pit of the night though cold
is curtained and
fittingly covered is my yearning
for thee, some vain
hope decides to unsleep and keep
me wide-eyed \'til
morn again has for certain broken.
When laid low
by memory I find myself clinging
close to thy
pillow and think of that presence
its hollow holds.
At last a slow winning of pale over
grey as dawn\'s
rosy fingers bid me away, I go to
remain at my
window until tide is high, for this
time it maybe
the one that is bringing thee safe
home again.