he would not leave this place

for a fair and distant land,

one of casual invention in

the thoughts of another

nor turn in haste to light candles,

their golden ebony flames

streaming in shadows of dreams

as yet undiscovered

he would tarry still in

wide-eyed wonder at the

stirring primal forces,

arising in their turn like the tide

and essay such scanty gifts

as imagination does possess,

cut from heart cloth to lay so

gently round her shoulders

he would not seek to box her in,

or attach possession’s sorry strings,

nor fail to learn from lessons past

when need ground spirit to dust

but rather hope to walk such path

as weary feet should chance to

sometimes share along the way,

if she would just say: Stay

copyright r.b.franklin 29/12/06

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