My love opens me up just like a rose
and so discloses my heart to the sun;
she places golden grains there, one by one--
without her ministrations, nothing grows.
My darling covers me like rich brown soil
and tucks my seedling dreams in humus beds;
from frost she shields their drooping fragile heads
until fruition answers all her toil.
And so whatever blooms spring from my soul,
whatever slender shoots rise to the air,
what fruits ripen and bend their branches there,
whatever once unformed grows true and whole
from this spare, fallow garden of my mind
is thine, my love--is thine, is thine, is thine.
2 comments:
For Sarah, naturally. :)
I know the repetition at the end is a little hokey, but I like it for some reason; I wanted it to be more of a song. Anyway, there it is.
Can't you two just be MARRIED like normal people and dispense with all this eternal love nonsense? ;)
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