which blooms in my heart;
that it fills me with the warmth of my longing.
But a blossom gentler of laughter tender
may my love beseech its belonging.
How soft is my bed that I make it her stead
be it soft that her love might grow.
Save soft as her kiss may that it rest ‘pon my lips
or will it be I shall ever
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2007