As you said, RCL, I'm rhyming with the past, not repeating it.
On a Theme of Thomas Wyatt
She goes from me, who onetime did me touch
With fingers far more subtle than the dawn.
It was her wont to worry overmuch,
Whose curtains now are so securely drawn.
The heavens’ brightest star is fled and gone.
And gone is all but this fool moon and me,
Where it hath been the two of us were three.
Am I, perchance, the fool that doth await
So confidently on the coming day?
Oh, no, ‘twas not a mean and loveless hate
That made a thing a brilliance soon decay.
Your silver beams will tarnish and turn gray.
And then, O moon, the beauty that did flee
Will come again and far outshineth thee.
Last edited by Tim McGrath; 01-17-2020 at 02:54 PM.