Ere the wind blows        slow and tempting,
I sit by the brook listening to its babble    
and that soft caress on my cheek      
that tendril of thought
into the skeins of My body
when does the liver unfurl      
                          will My tongue taste      

will He ever fruition those desires        
The cup of stones      
That beacon of light
into her soul,
washes her brow and
her little smiles        
etched in silver and gold    
light up the sky        

But once again when the laughter bubbles over  
does the cry of the bespoken ring asunder,

will she walk with Him  
                          in darkness and dread
the slow steps she takes      
                          will their fervour
forever wither and gasp        

a Fish out of its element
                          gaping and retching      
the sigh of the shell as
the surges of the seas rise
above all      
ring forth and take        

Hold fast unto yours as others will claim      
She offered finally
Yet He never took        
                         The yellow bird wonders why              

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