Since thou hath left me, I am in me lost,
And tempest within doth direct mine sails,
As the winds of change hath memories tossed,
Waves of disquietude crash as love fails.
What is pain, if not that which in waves gather?
For erosion of heart tis rife with ache,
As brash wounds stream as thoughtlessness lathers,
And upsurge swells till walls of hurt do break.
In time, thine ready soul washes ashore,
With new mind absorbed on the gentlest sight
The pulse within stirring, new love outpour,
As volcano moans till glory ignite.
Then mountain and sea celebrate such night;
And feelings, freshly found, follow the light.