Early Summer and Late Spring

There’s little else that I can do But sit, and sigh, and dream of you If I could whisper, shout or scream My feelings shy and blue Then I should never hesitate To –with all haste!– quickly relate These dreams that never dissipate And hope you share them too. But such is not the lot for me No chances of my ecstasy I wonder why it matters; In my mind, alone, I’m free To do as I will, despite what comes Your anesthesia numbs me Till Reality slips in  And the day will dwindle, yet again Even sleep eludes me now these dreams have thus intruded One could call it sweetness, I suppose This budding, bitter rose I serve myself And cry, “Forget! Forget!” Already I regret it O, Early Summer and Late Spring! I am the fool who crowned me King. Mark Burton Tuesday, October 04, 2005, 12:34 A.M.