Annum

Look, what has happened there
Time has bent another year.
But to recount the passing days
Would sadly distract our gaze
From the reason we are here.

I will not sing to pass the time
Nor commend these seasons in rhyme.
For what I seek to celebrate
Is much more than passing fate
But the joy of your life in mine.

I swear my words will only sound,
My harp play, or my drum pound,
To share my heart’s one love
God’s gift and my only dove
As the earth turns silent round.

It might surprise how oft your smile
Does fill the room with graceful style.
And against the night outside my door
You labored in prayer, on the floor
Granting me strength to stand my trial.

You may ask how man finds joy
Without falling to cunning ploy,
No other answer have I
But to gaze with tearful eye
On her whom God would I enjoy.

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3 thoughts on “Annum

  1. Even when silent, not absent,
    poetry is least of all
    by words, but
    when it is,
    it sings,
    and

    once voiced, resounds forever
    and ceaselessly, infects
    all lesser lays of
    uninspired
    bards
    as I.

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