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The Love of Which I Speak
You possess such beauty to My mind’s eye
that I cannot extricate myself from thoughts of You—
the hazy smear of flowers in a vast English garden,
the playful calliope of music that dances within My ears,
the muted gurgle of dying waves in the surf,
the gentle tickle of a tear drifting down a cheek.
You are ‘It’ and ‘All’ to Me—
the gavel that falls with an innocent’s pardon,
the shiver that dissipates with the loss of one’s fears,
the first burp of life in a newborn’s birth,
the breath that caresses this Love of which I speak.
that I cannot extricate myself from thoughts of You—
the hazy smear of flowers in a vast English garden,
the playful calliope of music that dances within My ears,
the muted gurgle of dying waves in the surf,
the gentle tickle of a tear drifting down a cheek.
You are ‘It’ and ‘All’ to Me—
the gavel that falls with an innocent’s pardon,
the shiver that dissipates with the loss of one’s fears,
the first burp of life in a newborn’s birth,
the breath that caresses this Love of which I speak.
Published 11th Nov 2016
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