By the Gate






"She stands there waiting by the gate--
Ever watchful, never late.
A silent sentry in the rain;
Her face a mask of hidden pain
The time will come, the Trumpets sound
Her Love returned; HE WILL BE FOUND.
For now she waits - her vigil clear;
From day to week to month to year."









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1 comment:

Alexis-Rueal said...

Quite lovely. Your strength lies in your rhyming poetry... you have a wonderful sense of musicality. Very well written.