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smallstepsmadpotepotriemantheartfulcodgerscogterransvoice
The Eastern Gate



He left by the Eastern Gate
Slipping through the fading light
Before they closed the city
Against fast approaching night.

They first tumbled in the grass
Under a tree still growing there,
Her skirts as disarranged
As the wind disarranged her hair.

He had loved her with a passion
But a love that had to sadly end,
For while he loved her as a lover,
She had just loved him as a friend.

He stood at her wedding
Then before it was too late
Slipped from their city
Through the Eastern Gate.

She missed him for a long time,
But as time slipped surely by
She could recall his name
With regret and maybe a sigh.

Sometimes at the Eastern Gate,
With a casual sort of care,
She lays bouquets of flowers
By a tree still growing there.








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