A Song

A poem by Virna Sheard

Love maketh its own summer time,
'Tis June, Love, when we are together,
And little I care for the frost in the air,
For the heart makes its own summer weather.

Love maketh its own winter time,
And though the hills blossom with heather,
If you are not near, 'tis December, my dear,
For the heart makes its own winter weather.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'A Song' by Virna Sheard

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy