Don'T You Know
Don’t you know?
Your heart is a stirring wandering minstrel
that plays softly soulful at my window
it is the weeping voice of the cello
that begs his companion the moon to dwell
in sleepy stillness, embracing the night
yet a little bit longer with its glow,
while already dawn’s envious rays show
their eager smiles; and even this quiet
tireless old traveler that knows no grief,
Death, did suspend his course, and in delight
listened on the waves of silence, a brief
moment in time sparing us. Don’t you know
that the sweet sound of your gentle footsteps
has etched its way into my heart and grows?
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