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He is the wisdom
Spanning heights
Of coniferous kingdoms
Like the groves of Devonshire.

He is beauty unhindered
As is the first sign of Spring
That tiptoes across the moss-laden floor
Of a Winter's morn.

Oh 
His voice is gallant song
Much like the winds
That gracefully challenge
The dove of Heaven's wing.

His eyes speak truths
Like those of the 
Tend'rest of brown velvet fawn;
New to night's cloaked orb.

His heart is grand
Like the gently outreached
Depths of river and sea;
It is there he beckons me.


I heed the desire to saunter through the groves,
And embrace the signs of Spring:
Ah, even the ephemeral heart would take flight
Upon that dove's wing!
Blanketing itself
In the brown velvet - unremoved upon entering
The watery depths.


In his arms I would relinquish myself
To such ambrosial lips tempting:
It is because of he that I know peace!
And of we that my soul is rejoicing.