by Mark Bishop
Rhymes without rhythm
Melodies without music
Entreat the ear but themselves betray that there is something more
So this beauty
These moments haunted by longing
Like a dream too soon discovered to be nothing more than fiction
The joy is real yet flees too swiftly
Would it but stay
Would it but rest with my soul
And cease forever this weary chase
To capture to have to hold
To die to wilt to lose
A cage is no place for freedom and grace
Nor would I fetter beauty
Though it pains me to know their lack
And in their absence long I wander
Still they visit when they choose
My tired heart grows ever fonder
