Are Your Kisses Grey?

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
― Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy

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On the Death of Summer

Day was a bright one,
A summer, a rain –
Your kiss was a grey one,
A dying, a pain:

And earth was unending,
A round one, a ball –
But love had its ending,
The finite – the gall

Of a life-time,
A season, a year,
Like the dawn of a day-time,
The dew, and the fear

Of a noon-tide,
The parchness, the sun:
And the end of a morning,
New season begun

With a day full of boding,
A sadness, a sense
Of deep yearning
To fly through the fence,

To run back to spring-time,
The past, the old-new,
And offer this day-time,
Your kiss and you –

To mature into summer,
The love, the rich wine,
To free raging stallions
From stables of time,

Where leaves rot to nothing,
Through copper, through browns,
And heap up the doorways,
– The tombstones , the mounds –

So none can escape,
Decaying, the dust.
And autumn is charging,
So eager to thrust

Your warmth into winter,
A cold wind, a bite.
Bright day is ending –
Black horses at night

Crash into locked doors
And die.

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