Softly falls her hair in midday sun,
Gently falls my stare on the run
Of her hand, through her hair.
As of all the goddess; I can compare
You to them all.
In the midnight moonlight —
Darkness is invisible,
The sorrowful departure is inevitable.
For I must wake again
And the morning will take you again.
by Robin McNamara
As kindly published on Spillwords.com. You can check out lots of my work the
Robin McNamara Poet 