lost song

an octet    
   
you    
are mine    
—everything.    
i      a m     empty    
when  you   go   away:    
a bird plucked from the wing,    
a  flute  subdued  by  the  tongue,    
a mountain flung from regal heights,    
a pipedream strangled by the night.    
return  to  me  my  lost  song,    
if e’er my lips may sing    
o f   a   better   day,    
when  the  beauty    
that  you bring    
shall  shine    
through.    
   
© Copyright 2019 June 24    
by Clyve A. Bowen♫