"Will You?"
When the chill of winter takes the feeling from my bones,
When the cold north wind comes hunting in the corners of my room,
When the snow falls thick at evening and its icy tendrils form,
Will you take me in your arms and keep me warm?
When the rain of spring falls hard from grey and cloudy skies,
When the ground is turned to quagmire so quickly at my feet,
When my first little flower, caught by the late frost, dies,
Will you come to me and dry my crying eyes?
Will you tell me that you love me in the early morning glow?
Will you lock the door at evening, say you don't care where I go?
Will your feelings fade so quickly, before they get the chance to show?
I thought perhaps you'd like to tell me.
Why can't you let me know?
When the burning touch of summer hangs clammy in the air,
When the dust and grit of drought cling darkly to my hair,
When the endless heat at night sees me sleepless in my bed,
Will you come to me and cool my aching head?
When the mountains become valleys and the deserts wash with sea,
When the forests are a wasteland and our pastures fill with trees,
When our cities lie in ruins and our race has ceased to be,
In the silence that follows will you say
You still love me?
© PB 1981
When the chill of winter takes the feeling from my bones,
When the cold north wind comes hunting in the corners of my room,
When the snow falls thick at evening and its icy tendrils form,
Will you take me in your arms and keep me warm?
When the rain of spring falls hard from grey and cloudy skies,
When the ground is turned to quagmire so quickly at my feet,
When my first little flower, caught by the late frost, dies,
Will you come to me and dry my crying eyes?
Will you tell me that you love me in the early morning glow?
Will you lock the door at evening, say you don't care where I go?
Will your feelings fade so quickly, before they get the chance to show?
I thought perhaps you'd like to tell me.
Why can't you let me know?
When the burning touch of summer hangs clammy in the air,
When the dust and grit of drought cling darkly to my hair,
When the endless heat at night sees me sleepless in my bed,
Will you come to me and cool my aching head?
When the mountains become valleys and the deserts wash with sea,
When the forests are a wasteland and our pastures fill with trees,
When our cities lie in ruins and our race has ceased to be,
In the silence that follows will you say
You still love me?
© PB 1981
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© PETE BRAVEN |
