Pining for Love

There is only a moment, when night meets the day.
On his ebbing feet, as he retreats, he spills his grief
On my verdant patch and his tears glisten in the
Golden beauty of dawn, as iridescent dew.

Creeping in hopefully, on her benevolent golden feet,
The day comes, sprinkling her warmth on the moist
Tokens of her inamorato’s ardour that sparkle so
On the bosom of the land they both cling to.

Ah! Such is the endless fate of these tortured lovers
That they meet in furtive daily but, in passing only.
Their love, although encompassing the sun and stars,
Remains unquenched, incomplete and crossed.

I sit and watch it often; this seductive tango of theirs,
Remembering my own lost love, in insomniac moments.
In the somnolent still of the night, I pine for his touch.
In the light of the day, with the dew my love too melds.
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