I just finished a new poem.  Just another overflow of heartache:

Thus, with a kiss, I died.

On Autumn day an early Grey

Stole from the shores of Winter’s tide

And bore me far away!

It brought its withering touch

That hurried death and robbed the breath

Of all I loved with rasping clutch,

And left a mourning wreath

On she who was my Spring!

Whose gentle lips and fingertips

To frozen fields did flowers bring.

My Spring! she slowly slips

Into mere memory.

And as I stand on Winter’s sand

I call to her across the sea,

But Silence lays its hand

Upon my quaking plea.

A choking presses on my breast,

I know that I will never see

Again my Vernal rest.

I hold that clinging scene

Before my eyes, O precious prize!

That to my Grey brings ghosts of Green

And faintly lights dim skies.

This, both my joy and sore:

Before my Bride from me was pried

She graced my lips with hers once more-

Thus, with a kiss, I died.

If you have any suggestions or anything, feel free to give them to me.  Later, friends.