still practicing my iambic pentameter…
So, we must laugh before that day may come;
before that twilight leaves us little choice
when both will mourn our last day in the sun
when colder silence muffles all our voice.
Yet greet me now; be kind before the fall.
Accept our hours together precious few
with no resentment for each time I call
with no assessment I am stressing you.
So many words, unspoken, stall mid-air.
They cause a pause become a gulf between.
Make use of precious hours we might share.
Instead, you’re here, yet turn away, unseen.
I speak, apart, but do not wish to be
so distant only forest hears my plea.