Weep no more my beauty, his voice comes to me in a midnight dream; and up I float from my bed, over trees and up into the clouds I follow his voice. The air is chilly cold, and I find myself in a cemetery; vast with headstones row on row, Empty with fog is the scene I behold, until, he is walking towards me . . . ___________________ January 17, 2018 Poetry/Verse/Weep No More My Beauty Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1097-557-01 All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.