THE YEARS ARE MANY

Willis Eberman

Think not that I have forgotten you

between the fire and the cloistered windows:

this room is often filled

with a presence, an essence,

a flowing, unheard music I know to be you,

and I am not alone...

Yes, the years are many, but you are returning

this spring as always,

in leaf, in bud, in blossom;

and my heart knows mysterious joy

at your subtle approaching.

one

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