When those gates close

they think of you

and they despise parting

for footsteps of all else

they would rest to rust

forever if they must

they long for gusts

of familiar fragrance

riding on their wings

to mark your presence

but barren be zephyr

trumpeting no arrival

dousing hope’s fire

only in shadows loom

your memories my sire

no rendezvous at hand

I suffer psyche’s gloom

your visage forbidden

for long from my sight

and I must suffice

with dreams in the night

thus the gates close

shutting out all light

and they despise parting

for footsteps of all else

they would rest to rust

forever if they must

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