by Luis G. Dato

For many a day of sunlight,
Her eyes surveyed the waves,
And in her glances one night
Descry her cold, white grave.

For many days she waited
Her eyes with weeping warm,
To bare boughs undulated
In the loud-howling storm.

Her days, her nights are over
The soul in pain has died,
The fair, the dear-eyed lover,
Death chose to be his bride.

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