Low light, my taper’s flame is small and sick,
While there beyond my window pane the gloom
Of storms that seem to hint of cloying doom
And all the inner air is warm and thick.
I hear my mantel clock go tick, tock, tick,
Old memories come flooding down a flume.
It seems I’m not alone within my room,
For someone’s doused my lonely taper’s wick.
And well I know that Elsbeth’s sitting there,
As at the window aspen’s branches claw,
And now I catch the scent of her gold hair,
As my old icy heart begins to thaw.
And I remember Elsbeth, sweet and fair,
Whose whispers gently banish my despair.
|
Submission Name: Elsbeth
