The Collector
I wish that in my deepest core
Some feelings would be washed ashore
That I long lost on winding roads.
I would collect them and take notes.
The feeling of a fireplace,
Of endless stories, bearded face.
Tickles of hay, of fingers tender,
Sounds of laughter, sighs, surrender.
I would take note of clearings lonely,
Jeers of envy, leaving only.
After sorting all my plunder
I would watch the ship go under
And I'd have the strong desire
To go diving and acquire.
Broken bottles, potions, bows,
Lutes and pipes and dancing vows.
Faces of old friends in waves,
Faces gloating, faces brave.
I would add loss to loss, and gain,
I would take joy and love, leave pain.
I would also like to think
That while examining the wreck
I'd note two violet, violet jewels,
Looking at me from the deck.
Oft what is dearest to your heart
Gives you still solace as you fall apart.
I'd take those jewels if I could.
But they are yours, and I stay put.
And while at night I sing for you
I like to think of morning dew.