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Patchouli and Sage
Silver shadows lurk over virgin snow.
Time passes—reds and golds fade away.
The willow’s skeleton branches hang low,
Slowly decaying to black and gray.
The silence is a wild-eyed gypsy’s spell
That heralds the lonely invitation
To the tomb of a bittersweet farewell,
And the burrow of love’s hibernation.
Your memories into my heart do cleave
Like a happy dagger, ‘till I bleed dry
And wither from enchantment so naïve,
And the intangible truth of goodbye.
I yearn for the days of linen and lace,
Of patchouli and sage in your embrace.