29 Jun A Raven
A woman that I love knows that I’m speaking of
Her in this passage I have yet to pen.
When spending her time, she sees no dollar sign,
She’s not a merchant for now or then,
Her treasures are the labors of her spirit;
I had thought of a sign that embodies our design:
A raven grasping onto a brass snake.
The raven wants to sing, on the rocks near the spring,
A song that’s beautiful for its own sake
So others will have a heart to hear it;
Something stirs in the deep when she says I’m hers to keep
Her simple words are not simple to me,
Like luster of the leaves in magnolia trees
And the sound of the wind is its symphony.
There’s more than one way to write it;
In forests of romance, where fairies like to dance
And watch us from beneath the petals of flowers
Are full of magic words in the songs of the birds
And the raven tries to find which ones are ours.
And yet none of the words quite fit;
Yet if the breath of the sun is ever dark, my love,
And the moon burns out during the night,
Know there are more than just stars up above.
There’s treasures up there, out of sight,
Its majesty more than any fool can write –
When your tender branches are bare, my dear,
And your delightful loses all its delight,
Don’t worry a moment, I’ll be right here.
Those are the only words I know are right.
You won’t ever see this raven in flight –