Colin F. Jones

YOUR SUN

I have not you nor have I a child to love,
No part of me exists outside myself.
I wear crow’s wings with the plumage of the Dove,
And have but wisdom of life’s sadder self.
Few moments sun the Summers of my life,
Few memories blot the scene of bitter youth,
That plague my soul with hungers gnawing strife,
Leaving me with loneliness as its truth.
Yet, still alone, the Winter snows but gems,
Crystals of sweet dreams that melt away,
Leaving yet a man who still pretends,
That it’s your sun that lights his Summer day.
Yet you came with a passion designed to take,
That all my giving was a grave mistake.