Will I still love you, as before,
When you first came, through my door?
My love for you, I must admit,
Is yours to have, unless I'm unfit,
To share this life's, beauty and grace.
I long again, to see your face.
The last flowers that bloomed this Fall,
Have wilted and faded, to none at all.
The colors that were so intense,
Have darkened, so there is no pretense
Of life, as their hardened stems sing
"I'm gone and won't bloom, 'til Spring.
Here I sit, again,
before the morning light.
Writing out the words,
coming at darkest night.
I'm tired, with aching head,
telling me "Go back to bed."
For just a few minutes,
I must stay,
or my words
will quickly, go away.