Drooped in darker green, By needles, brushlike, grouped, Its story sewn in dreams, The stolen pine twig told To every needle on the branch. You took a stitch in love's romance; At gloam, pierced autumn's farewell sound, Staccato rain fell straight to freeze. Over hills, along the stream, Across the sward and under trees, Love was in our midst; Everywhere but in my heart. Only the lover knew -- For I was unaware of thee; Nurtured branch in burnished urn, Listening for the murmuring wind Heard, instead, @3I love but you@1, Drooped still more and softly sighed . . . That day -- you know -- the walk for three. |