To greet the day with curious intent,
A day when I would see the one I love
My eyes – without their present torment –
The one who is my turtle dove.
Yet with the twists and turns of life,
Can only see by want and dreams
My eyes beguiled by loss and strife,
Her wonder and her radiance gleams
If I could paint her beauty here
I would trace her form, with fingers true
I would add some joy that allays my fear
Her heart of gold, that is riven through.
For she’s sublime, swims against the shoal
Wonderfully imperfect, but gloriously whole
