This is too long a break from learning you:
I have too many questions yet to ask.
The green Fife hills unroll behind the glass;
obscuring mist adds glamour to the view.
How can it be enough to be adored
by a gentle man? How could that suffice
to quell the questions you should ask? Ice
and mist suggest new hills to be explored.
Your gaze is a landscape I’d get lost in.
Grey eyes unwind the soul. If we can learn
our hearts’ cartography, we might yet turn
this trip into a homecoming. Just in
case this gets to you where you live:
I’ll be back soon; we’ll work out what to give.
I have too many questions yet to ask:
this is too long a break from learning you.
The green Fife hills unroll behind the glass.
Impatient motorists lined up to pass
wait for straight stretches; I admire the view.
I have so many questions yet to ask
you’ll think you’re in a seminar or class
on your own life when next I talk to you.
The green Fife hills unroll. Behind the glass,
light rain makes narrow highways perilous.
I miss you too much for a stranger. Do
I have too many questions? Yet, to ask
another journey of the heart, too fast
in its affections, on faith alone, won’t do.
In green Fife, hills unroll behind the glass,
reminders of the barriers we knew
we’d always have to study our way through.
Like green Fife hills. Enrol behind the glass:
I still have many questions yet to ask.