Awfully wishful, but then -- all the same
I shall find joy in opening of doors.
I cannot walk through all of them, of course --
don't know my choice yet, my path has no name.
But first, there are matters that come to a close
twighlit, long-shadowed, licked by touch of flame
with some head-shaking, critical acclaim
I shall of those things gracefully dispose.
Oh! she exclaimed, as dreamy as rose
in-between pages of long-loved book; stain
having kept fragrance, caressing the nose
She shall be happy with it, I suppose,
with rare-ocurring bouts of teary rain
-- worn metaphors -- comfort that she chose.
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