Misty Blue

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Misty Blue

It shown in shades of misty blue,

with Auburn lips and smiles anew,

With eyes of tarnished, brass and steel,

sightless, hard and cold surreal

In threes they stand in quiet romance,

in hopeless hope of loves demand

With towers lofty and stars on high,

topped in red of glowing fire

With curving spires and painted glass

with lamps in styles of old, in brass

In black of moon and night a full,

in somber glows their light do cast

Through walls of glass where youths walk past

and muted words, belie the truth

With crosses born on shoulders strong,

with no kind word for those forlorn

With eyes that see no not a bit,

eyes that see, no naught of me

In silence, tread and blindness see,

no not a thing, which Jesus bled

These things I see and know so well,

of silence born where hatred dwells

Where oak trees stand and mourn at night,

hushed and dark and lost to sight

Where silence reigns and youth delights,

soft and tender, beyond my sight

With grasses clipped to perfect heights

with flowers round in colors white

Where youth and age do join and wait,

while blackbirds sit on branches late

Watch and flirt and chat without,

fluff and stir, and wait about

Where branches green for rests respite,

do sit alone in darkness bright

Where souls do gather seeking light,

then walk away, no love in sight

Oh Lord if only my heart could speak,

my soul could groan, my love could shriek

I’d call aloud, to her alone.

Of her I sing, of her I moan.

Tim Wilkinson/Wayne Wilks © 2009


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