I saw you in the morning

your hair touched

by the sun.

Your shadow ran before you

as ‘cross the lawn you’d come.

It reached me

and slid upwards,

to gently touch my face.

I waited, oh so quietly

to feel your warm embrace.

To feel your lips upon my cheek,

to bask in your warm glow.

To hear you softly say to me

what I most need to know,

that you are not a dream,

Dear Heart,

that you are not a dream.