love, its purest form
sounds in the breath of an elderly
not so close to blossoms the day has touched
but grasped the light so recently.
filling chests of laughter,
the tears falling from tenderness
were wiped off by a slight thought
of sadness remembered scarcely
so the leaves fell on this day
like a dim shadow where its purest form once stood
undoubtedly i do remember
but vague, void, sour.
i know now it was not the form but the thought
raised up above,
the thought is still pure for that it is mine,
but on the opposite scale is the dime..