In Your Prose


My dear please

explain I plead

for help breathe

in lines I read.

Enchant a pure

source my cure.

Attraction sure,

in ink a leisure.

Gasp I do dear,

I see the same.

Have no shame,

see your name.

I know it in air

in which prepare

I do for to repair

our bridge there.

I question God,

I’ll a give a prod

to the Lord I nod,

such things odd.

Words beauty it

in many way list

her sweet gifts

that a soul uplifts.

An eternal shrine

to glory combine

descent to divine,

in truth collide.

My dear let speak

a beauty I’m weak;

dear beauty sleep,

my tears I keep.


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