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Our Time
Loves worn and lost,
like morn's early frost roused
and seduced by dawn's virginal sun;
these repair in time into clouds.

Love won and new,
such as tomorrow's dew, yet formed,
seems illusory, unreal, clouded;
in night's abyss still enshrouded.

But revealed each dawn
on this stark, thirsting lawn
nary a solitary droplet
of you, my life's love lost.

I gaze to the skies,
at swelled clouds upon high
that hang bloated, mocking, swirling;
these faithfully disregard me.

And I will not quarrel,
to this day still...

...for perchance we may,
from night into day distil
and have once more, our time
in dayspring solace, even more perfect still...

...’twixt Heaven, Earth and Space
I am haunted by your face, my life’s love.
And time? I shall not forget.
Our Time.
Copyright © Ben Kross

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