MM ( / )

Bring Me Home

In the northern hills of the Algonquin, where the
winter winds of change are born.
Is a place so still and quite, the souls of bodies are
torn.

Asleep the body does remain, the soul intent to find
its way.
It ride's those winds, those cold wintry winds, to
find it's mate and say.

You are my true love, the one the worlds cannot
replace.
You are the one that breaths from my breath and exists
within my very space.

And the Gods of Hannibal, the lot and more, as dubious
as they be.
Would not serve well, to catch the hell, of keeping
you from me.

So dawn your smile, and think for awhile, of the time
far past the gloom.
Close your eyes, and remember no good byes, for the Algonquin wind brings me to you,
very soon.

by M.A. Maxey

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