Tuesday, August 18th, 2009 - 9:22 am
What good fortune will the morrow bring?
Will the feeble dance? Will the voiceless sing?
Though we may dream both peasant and king,
I dare not ask lest the death toll ring.
But if I could behold your sweet angel’s face,
I would know not of a more sacred place
than the place I stand, my will erased,
for my heart has run wild and I did chase.
So I say tonight on this evening clear,
It’s you I wish to hold ever near.
Though the sun may set I know no fear,
as long as I know my truest dear.