228. 1/8/15 (#222)
By the waters of a river form'd,
Many hundreds of years ago,
I heard and felt the broken tears,
Behind her ebb and flow.
In the shade of an oak tree grown,
Over centuries gone by,
I saw and held the hand of she,
Who had once made me cry.
In the bustling of a station built,
Of iron in Victorian times,
I dreamt of her once again,
Though she's no longer mine.
And in the darkness of a hotel room
Furnished only this year,
I lost sense over missing her,
And knew the end was here.