The Walk Home

The Walk Home

by Axe

Now hear a heart’s gray, still lament,

A sadly smiling spending, spent

On love without a snare. She went

Beneath old-fashioned moonlight, went

Beneath her star toward home.

Now here a warming Spring’s gone cold.

And here a surging tree’s grown old

And upright sways, its shade unfolds,

And stumbles in the musty wold,

Without his star toward home.

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