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A day without. How terrible it was.

A day without the knowing eyes you bring.

A day without all that your knowing does

a soul that already so seldom sings

to eyes that know their song, the way yours do.

To eyes that hear their mute songs made for you.

Were those eyes boring through the earth into

the eyes that, o’er and o’er, their outline drew?

I dreamed enough to make the semblance real

where your usual place was. I thought I saw,

perhaps, what you might do, but could not feel

the way your eyes usually on me draw.

A day without your eyes. How terrible.

A day without you is unbearable.

~~~

Soft petals fell upon a softer stream

drifting to where a hush pond lay remote,

which softly shone with the Sun’s tempered gleam

upon its face, whereon it softly wrote

the promise of a tranquil day. Enough

of pleasure and of peace for one to prize.

But there are harsher waters: raging, rough,

where promise of a greater grandeur lies.

Too much, though, roaring bends in rivers brash,

for one to bear their tempting, grand rewards.

The strength and gleam of such waters would dash

man faster than a fishing ship to boards.

Regard no tempting waters, but the pond,

which, as you love it, is of you as fond.