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Solemn are the Days, and Lonesome are the Nights
Heavy are the lashes which hold dreams
On a dreary afternoon
Where wind knocks at the doors
And sends the shingles running for the hills
I do not want to lick the dew less grass
Where dawn’s rose colored cheeks blush upon
Nor do I want to drink the water from the soil
I wish for roses to bloom in this rain
To kiss my pale lips
And create a rail-rose stain
But I am made of unspoken words
And rain only makes an inked mess of me.
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