As I woo the ages

Posted on by under Poetry

.

My hands are cold,

My face is gaunt,

There is no cure

This is my plight,

My fate is old:

These lands I haunt;

I am of pure

Fallen moonlight.

.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

Gravatar
WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. ( Log Out /  Change )

Cancel

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.