Song: To Laura

Arise thou gentle, tender shoot;
Apollo runs the race with zeal.
I hear the trumpet and flute;
The rain, the warmth–all these I feel.

As sprightly drops begin to fall
Upon the daffodil’s long trump,
The robin to his mate dost call;
Soon they’ll place each tiny clump

Of amber straw upon the heap,
Then they’ll add the twigs with care.
Inside this nest the young will sleep,
Protected from the chilly air.

A bird I am ‘though I lack wings,
And I am subject to the tune
That mother nature softly sings.
To walk with you will be a boon;

’twill be a rapture of delight
To hold your hand and touch your mind.
We’ll burn as candles in the night,
Proclaiming joy unto a world unkind.

While others stand as statues cold
Awaiting their triumphant day,
We’ll laugh, we’ll sing, we’ll be so bold.
Can statues sing? Can statues pray?

While on their knees the worldly folk
Implore the shiny, scaly beast,
No golden calf will we invoke;
Nor will we join their merry feast.

Why should we drink their bitter wine,
When we can share an ancient brew?
We’ll share the cup; we’ll share the vine;
With arms entwined we’ll toast to two.

As one we’ll live; as one we’ll pray
To God above–the God of love.
We’ll share the night; we’ll share the day;
Our bodies will touch as hand and glove.

Around your neck I place my hand;
My fingers glide across your back;
Our ankles touch the burning sand.
What joy we have; we nothing lack!