Thou wist thy
heart beats hard,
Thou canst
feel it race,
Thou canst
feel it against thy chest.
All it doeth is take away thy sleep,
And the open,
teary eyes showeth nightmares.
It might've
been thy truest part,
It might've
been thy life.
It might be
thy history.
But it is not
thy destiny.
Ere the set
of sun,
Ere all
changeth to memories,
Where the
place, whither we meet,
There nigh
the tree that hath now been hewn!
