The plaintive wail of my heart
Wends into the night;
A sort of longing melancholy,
A sense of searching but not finding,
A form of serenity and isolationism.
The pity of it all strikes my heart anew
All that is past cannot be recovered;
My self-being quakes at this misfortune.
© Lawrence Reynolds 1962 (pen name)
© 2010 by Richard L. Provencher
first published in Treasures of Parnassus
Best Poems of 1962 Volume Two
Young Publications
Appalachia, Virginia, USA
