Weeping Bliss

Weeping Bliss

 Would it be weeping bliss,
 If cupids arrow missed,
 It’s mark,
 striking a nightingale in the dark,
 So she sang a lonely song like the lark,
 Just beyond first street across from the park,

 Where car horns blow into the night,
 And open shades emit the light,
 of the fires glow,
 The ambers keeping the cold below,
 The 2nd floor,
 And away from our door.

 Where we wished we could hear more,
 of the gentle lark,
 who serenaded us in the dark,
 When we were then,
 In my home I was ten,
 Or maybe 11,
 No matter for me it was heaven,
 everything I loved was there,
 And I recall each moment as I stare,
 Off into the night sky,
 The sound of a train passes by
 Whispering:
 

Clickety-Clickety-Clack,
 You can't go back,

 Clickety-Clickety-Clack,
 No, You can't go back.

 So it’s weeping bliss,
 And those who are gone I miss,
 These memories become their kiss,
 To me over time and in my mind,
 I never leave them behind,
 For where the nightingale sings like a lark,
 well find those we love just past the park,
 Down the cobblestone streets we rode,
 When we were young and grew old.

BR 3/2017