Letterbound Poem by Christian Thomas Scott

Then the gentle falling,
Leaves among,
That which all day,
You have done as just another,
As though they are meaningful,
Scarce to behold.
That which pleases me,
Would always lend,
Yet may shatter to its bitter shards.
Thou must never blossom more!
For when they take their love songs,
With the freedom they made,
Accomplish'd each with besetting fears,
So also, you must admit impediments.
For must ye swear against each,
Strange music from islands adrift.
Upon thy grave remain,
Though every heart runs through paradise.
When the sun retires from every branch,
The moon shall warm my evening glow.