Devan

January 3, 2005

soft, misty light of the full moon
of catching yours with my tune

awakening grasp of the mountains’ frosty winds
of finding yours when the dawn begins

tender caress of the kind autumn sun
of feeling yours when this wait is done

mute companionship of the ageless sylvan glade
of savoring yours, for which these arms were made

breath stealing sight of the eagles in the skies
of gasping in yours, for which my heart cries

whispering song of the fathomless blue seas
of being struck dumb at hearing yours beside me

warming breeze of the bright desert’s morning
of tasting yours, how my heart would sing

soothing call of the brook in the darkness of night
of hearing yours, finally making this soul right.

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