While Walking

I walk to where we lay
Beneath our Banyan tree
But without you I cannot stay,
It seems a wretched place to be.
I walk to where we sat
By a glittering lake
But now alone it would seem that
That joy too I must forsake.
That night frogs sang of love
Into our furtive ears;
Now the same moon hangs above
But there is no love sung here.
Perhaps I’ll wait by this now quiet shore
For you to come — perhaps I’ll wait no more.

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This entry was posted in Sonnets.

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