It May Be.
In the pit of midnight though cold
is curtained and
fittingly covered comes a yearning
for thee, vain
hope decides to unsleep and keep
me wide-eyed
til morning has for certain broken.
When laid low
by memory I find myself clinging
close to thy
pillow and think of that presence
its hollow will hold.
At last a slow winning of pale over
grey as dawn\'s
rosy fingers bid me away, I go to
gaze thru\' my
window until tide is high for this
time it may be
the one that is bringing thee safe
home to me again.