The ravens of my thoughts
come to your waters to drink,
under dream-mists of moonlight,
settling darkly on the shore.
Recalling fairest meadows
on watercolor mornings,
breaths full of wild thyme
and new-blooming heather.
Afternoons of leisure,
the running freely about,
the clear light and music
of bright laughing voices.
The peace of purple twilight,
the drowsy lull of nature,
the silver stars enkindled
in your ocean-jewel eyes.
With a long thirsting slaked,
the ravens, on shining wings,
like stray shadows on the wind
to the sleeping woods return.
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