Triolet Lament
by Gloria Viglione

No lamenting our moonlight kiss amidst the cricketís song
nor its symphony of waves, filling my every sigh—
knowing, come Monday, it will all be just a memory, prolonged.
No lamenting our moonlight kiss, amidst the cricketís song.
Taste. Feel the dew of the columbine. To you, I belong.
Catch the raindropís fragrance, key to the hummingbirdís nectar. Oh, why
no lamenting our moonlight kiss amidst the cricketís song—
nor itís symphony of waves, filling my every sigh?


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