Whose seed, in the fertile soil of
my sleep, was sown. And like the
Glow of stars to the sky at night,
Its essence to my waking soul has
formed a light:

More beautifully clothed than the
lilies of the field, and lasting past the
embrace of a rainbow’s shield that
lingers inside the shadows of clouds
in the air, like a song of a dove cooing
in my ear, as I seek the tracks of her
Sound, hoping one day her nest will
Be found.

But if tomorrow I shall no more arise,
Before her form is birthed by my call,
Like the fate of leaves during the
Season of Fall; bury my passion in the
bosom of her paradise.