Yes, i think there is one more love poem in me tonight. It is shy though, and is hesitant to step around the curtain of weariness that hangs between heart and pen.
Come out, my lovely thing.
Come out into this dim warm room and let me hear you sing.
It need not be a noble song
nor need its verses go for long.
In truth, o starry child of this most dark-filled heart,
even at song's sweet end there is the start
of melody that stretches on and on right out of time
whose very essence is sublime.
I'm sorry if I've startled you with words. I'm coarse and spare
of grace, while you are only and alone most fair.
And so begin.
I will silent sit and silent weep, for lo
and very briefly must I yield
to sleep.
yet let them not call me beggar who once did hold your gift within my ear -
i am king of wealth beyond their scope for I know you, my dear.
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