A tender touch so long ago - I loved
and felt, and basked in splendid daydreams past;
but daydreams die and touches pass. And gloved
hands make no sun, mere jagged shadows cast.

Longing lives in lakes from eyes, which stare
behind illusions grand, and gropes and stings
and sings a dirge for glee. So much to bear
in heart when Love sleeps and frigid winter springs.

Roses bloom on desert's rugged face.
Without a Love's pruning touch, they grow untamed,
blamed for rain; they gather and embrace
the one, who yearns for love and rose's same.

Now past is laid to rest and future comes
to hold and touch and make new sun, and love.