As night falls it brings a foreboding -
A sinister omen of fear;
What will I do when the clock strikes twelve,
When it's midnight and he's not here?

Each tick of the clock seems to mock me,
How do I flee its taunting jeer?
A starless mantle of black and gray
Steadily falls . . . and he's not here

And I plead,  but will God hear my prayer,
Or into my heart ****** a spear?
The hour hand of the clock slowly crawls
Toward midnight . . . and he's not here

Has the fount of mercy stopped flowing?
My cup remains devoid of cheer;
I brace myself for doom's messenger . . .
Midnight arrives . . . and he's not here

Each night the clock eerily echoes
The ****** of a drama so drear,
Repeating over and over again
Not here . . . not here . . . not here . . .

In a field of daisies, beneath quiet skies
The stardust of Love beclouded my eyes;
Plucking the petals, I played the game ---
Oddly, the daisies all answered the same;
Amidst dire omens, our passions were stirred,
Warnings from the mute flowers went unheard

In a field of daisies my Fate was sealed --
In a field of daisies, the truth revealed;
His pledges of Love he soon forgot,
But the daisies knew . . . .  he loved me not

He'll take the helm and guide me through
The storms besieging my soul;
When doubt leads to indecisiveness
He'll step in and take control

He'll be the wind beneath my wings,
Saving me from swift descent;
He'll intervene when he perceives
A choice that I might repent

He'll know my strengths and weaknesses,
For he will have forged the key
That permits entry to my heart,
Revealing each mystery

Before my cup of hope is drained
He'll refill it to the brim;
He'll tranquilize my restlessness
With poetry, or a hymn

But cherished most will be his love
That's searching relentlessly
For a heart to combine with his
In flawless harmony.
This is the man I've yet to meet . . .
These are the things yet to be

It's over, our love is dying,
It won't make it through the night,
The willows are weeping in anguish,
While the stars cry their tears of light

A rose bows its head in sorrow,
Exhaling its last perfumed breath;
A love that once burned so brightly
Is meeting an untimely death

Tonight all the doves are mourning
And asking "How can this be?"
Waves patiently wait at the shoreline
To sweep the remains out to sea

Dismal is the mood in Heaven --
We've made the angels cry;
But come, let us say our last farewells . . .
Heaven knows that all things must die

I marvel at Nature's wonders--
A rose's scent drifting on the breeze;
I welcome the birds and their warbled words . . .
But I'd rather have Love than these

While strolling the crimson forest
The wind ruffles the leaves of the trees
In their Autumn dress.  My, how they impress!
But I'd rather have Love than these

Puppies and kittens amuse me
As they playfully taunt and tease,
Or when a butterfly catches their eye . . .
(But I'd rather have Love than fleas!)

Snow falling gently at twilight
Helps put my distraught mind at ease;
And the first signs of Spring make my heart sing . . .
But . . . I'd rather have Love than these

For Love is more precious than diamonds,
Or all the pearls in Poseidon's trawl;
But Love's Crown Jewels go unnoticed by fools.
As for me, I choose Love above all!

I used to find pleasure in simple things --
The first buds of May, Saturn's glorious rings;
And I found Life to be carefree and grand,
But those were the days when Love held my hand;
Then Love said farewell -- O, how my world changed!
Now I stumble through Life like one deranged

How I loathe these dark clouds of solitude
That were not summoned, yet dared to intrude;
And on nights when loneliness claws at the door
I must leave this realm where Love lives no more;
And so I set sail for some distant isles
Where contentment reigns and the face of Love smiles

Upon my return, anguish fills my surround,
And nowhere can sanctuary be found;
A wretchedness once again overtakes    
My very soul. And within me there quakes
A heart that's confused and weary with pain,
And it knows not why it must beat in vain

But the heart must obey the dictums of Fate,
No matter the venue -- Hell's or Heaven's Gate;
Yet, when old memories are gently stirred
Soft murmurs of undying love can be heard;
And in such moments I feel gratitude
For this brief reprieve from my solitude

He never heard me crying
To the empty and uncaring skies;
I cried about the cold formality
In his touch, and his hollow eyes

He never heard me praying
As the setting sun inflamed the West;
I prayed I might rekindle the embers
Of  love that once burned in his breast

He never heard me calling
To the immured realm of his mind,
Hoping the echoes would shatter the walls
And free the love he kept confined

He never heard me saying
"I love you" -- his passion unstirred;
How silent the cries of the heart can be . . . .
. . . . . . . . . .   he never heard!