Upon the hour of the morrow,
That once brought joy, now only sorrow,
I shall once more awake,
to unfetted light seaming through the drape,
and once in mornings (long brought to close),
I longed for an end to that brief repose,
In lands of fanciful subconscious thought,
Nothing more joyous had e`er been wrought,
in my minds eye, or that of my kin,
to rival the beauty of that simple sin,
of awaking with joy to find you by,
and watch you slumber in contentment, but why,
has that now been taken hence where i cannot go,
that pessimistic, sadistic first flighof romeo,
Now i long for that embrace that i dreaded,
now all alone as by no