~ A Song ~

~ A Song ~

Let I be buried,
Where he shalt be …

And bury me, thou
With pretty parchments
Of colors, shapes and sort
Lest he be finicky!

And shalt I wait upon him,
Impatience and locks tucked
One in heart, other behind earlobes …
Flowering hymns and a song
Ere he comes!

I may croon to myself,
My song; not for thine ears but!

My beloved shalt come morrow,
Knowing his fair dame
Hath waited for him,
With Virgin notes of a Song!