Stephen Brooke Biography

Beneath the fading stars they pass,
too dim for mortal sight,
Shadows moving in the mist,
before dawn's first pale light.
...

Sweep me up. I'm ready to go
in your box, be stored away.
My heart's been carried around too long,
been in too many pockets. Sweep me
...

You have drifted from my heart,
On your separate, silent way;
Though I had hoped, of all I've known,
You, at least, might stay.
...