When finally those quickened hours come that crept unseen behind tomorrow's door, and waves of yesterdays upon me pour ~ few secrets left of just what might become. In frost, the rush to harvest summer's yield, when all of youth would break the vines of spring, it seems an instant ~ now at last they cling, impatient souls await in vineyard fields. In warmth the sun of dawning will arise, then weep upon your cheeks contented tears and I will reach and sweep away your fears when last I see the beauty of your eyes...