It was November. It was cold; below the seasonal average, the weather forecast said. The wind swept the dead leaves along in gusts. The sky was a cold, clear blue. Really not the weather to be put ... [+]
Seven years
Were but a day,
Where love grew as
life passed away.
Her lovely eyes
at me would stare,
As they peered through
her lovely hair.
Her father asked
A heavy price,
But her fair heart
Abates all vice.
So as the sun
Rolls through the days,
I labor with
Her passing gaze.
For my true love,
Is why I say
That seven years
Were but a day.
Were but a day,
Where love grew as
life passed away.
Her lovely eyes
at me would stare,
As they peered through
her lovely hair.
Her father asked
A heavy price,
But her fair heart
Abates all vice.
So as the sun
Rolls through the days,
I labor with
Her passing gaze.
For my true love,
Is why I say
That seven years
Were but a day.