by Melanie Orton
At first display, this afternoon could claim
Serene and placid as descriptors -- but
The smiling sun inadequately tames
My wrestled speeches, quashed by lips sewn shut.
Though capable of lecture, witty tune
And quick debate; this tongue shall swiftly bind
While love or adoration cross my room.
My vice is not disdain in heeding sign
Of marked devotion. Nay -- indeed my breast
Is swell with bright and tender volumes writ.
Thus stilled by fear that words could ne’er attest
My soul’s intent, I fret. Yet I acquit
Thee now, hushed voice, and dare this truth impart:
I trust him for the keeping of my heart!
Photo: flickr - ecstaticist
No comments:
Post a Comment