~~Sweet Thyme and Sage~~

- Isilmë

My days run slower with each passing year,
no hope of finding the one I love so dear.
A lifetime since she left for greener fields,
never satisfied with her old pleasures.
As garden leaves browned and flowers wilted,
off she did go, searching for earth untilled,
Always I waited for the blush of spring,
hoping against hope to hear her voice sing.
No one has seen her, forever it seems,
now all I have left to hold are our dreams,
as ancient as my crown, grown bare with age,
no more shall I smell her sweet thyme and sage.