October 20th, 2006
hateful thing
Does he never sleep;
That cursed bird wich speaks your name?
No winters storm nor lovers dream
has ceased his dreaded game.
He lives up there;
beyond the trees
past where sticks and stones can reach
Each day he comes to watch me break
beneath the dream his calls awake
“my love…my love”
thy heart does weep
“oh that you were mine to keep!”