I went, again, one morn to see my love,
Who lies but soft and silent ‘neath the ground.
I spoke, once more, of all the news above.
I listened but she never made a sound.
I told her how the Spring is in the air,
And how it has sent winter to its place.
I told her how I miss her golden hair,
Of how I’d trade my soul to see her face.
The Spring, I said, is like one long ago,
When we through fields of marigolds would run.
The morning star would linger long and slow,
As if one last embracing with the sun.
The autumn cold did quash our spring away,
And you were gone before the winter’s snow.
No more in golden sun were we to play.
Now I, alone, with nowhere else to go.
My love, she waits for summers in the deep.
How long before I join her in my sleep?