Every love has its own hymn,that is born before it,to herald its coming,but dies without fanfare,like a bugler,before the battle is even done.
Every loveis born with a trumpet's waking,which the bugler takes to the grave,with him.
The great eyes of the sea hold the sadness of Marco Polo, after his travels: they saw much, and so grew wiser... Time makes waves. When they reach the shores,…
A breeze blows, and shakes the leaf, / Rocks a wave across the sea.
If you did not know that He is watching you, If you were not certain of the breathing of the stars Behind the great clouds, If you did not hear His waiting smile Behind…
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