Jessel Jane Tevar
The beauty mirrored upon my hands
was bound to pen my wasted days;
these hands that envied Browning ’ s
“ How do I love thee.. let me count the ways”
could no more but write the pain upon them
Fingers heavy with tears drowned and died,
O the many days I threw away in waste!
If ‘ love begets love ’ be true, then truth be lie,
the many veils I covered upon my face!
..i must cease these hands to write for thee...
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Comments about this poem (*Cessation~ by Jessel Jane Tevar )
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