A Dream Lives
© by E.W. Harrel
In the winter, in the evening, in the endless days preceeding
all the days of what is not or might have been.
In my searching, in my sorrow, in my hopes for sweet tomorrows
I found nothing but the question, "Where and when?"
I was eager, I was avid; I was, in my questing, rabid
to unlock the secrets of a love sublime.
There was patience, there was giving, there was always much forgiving
of the sins of love we see from time to time.
By the fireplace, by the lamplight, by the window on this dark night,
I sit silently, so awed by what I see.
In my visions, in my dreaming, in my days so endless seeming,
never did I picture she who sits by me.