If parting is such sweet sorrow,
Let me think,
Let me think,
Why this phrasing seeks to borrow
My mind
At such a time
as this
When the sweetness has not settled
And my skin feels only nettled
At impending loss.
The sting
The sting
The itch
The sting.
The sweetness, I suppose,
Is the love we've known
That makes alone all the lonelier.
Thank the Lord.
Thank the bard.
©2013 Bob Mason
