Another of my personal favorites–again a Shakespearan sonnet–but with the stanzas separated for literary effect. The idea is separation from dearest friends.
All that we thought was lost is merely stars,
Burning brighter still than moon or sun;
But far, so far we cannot call them ours,
Waiting out of reach and never won.
This twilight drives an arrow through my soul,
Clinging to the dust at end of day.
Never to regain what bounty stole,
Driving all we ever were away.
You will always be my summer weather,
Warm and pure in ways I’ll never know.
Gently in the blades of grass and heather,
‘Twas you who held my hand and wouldn’t go.
How far we’ve come and oh, how far apart–
So bright must burn the stars that light our hearts.