how long must i rage
against the dying of the light
before i can go to my grave
having fought the good fight
im battered and bruised
black and blue
like the night i invite
pray take me gently
lest i take my own life in spite

I was never the type
of child that obeyed
much  of anything;
not even the many
times  I was told
not to stare into
the evening sun
when I felt
alone.

A flower concealed
Its face under a leaf
And the nightingale said
Hide not
because you gladden my heart
Don't make my burn
With your separation
I have been in love
With you all my life