The Winter solstice and the longest night has now past. The occasion brings to mind one of my favorite poems:
The Long, long Night
He would sculpt and I would write
to get us through this thing called life and
what seemed to be an aimless plight
The long, long night
I used pen and he used clay
to cope with all the pain filled days
which lived within our slow decay of
The long, long night
But in between the words and mud
we found the art of making love
and pacified the angst and blood of
The long, long night
Forsaken pages ripped and torn,
spattered earth across the floor,
graphite tales of love and war and
The long, long night
Come into my bed sweet angry lover,
your tender calloused hands beneath the cover.
Find the place where none has been,
beneath the ink and turning pin,
get us through yet once again
The long, long night
That was lovely!
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Thank you Staci dear.
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You’re welcome. Merry Christmas to you and yours!
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Yes, great poem!
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Thank you ma’am. 🙂
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