A Matchless Mite
My love looms still in your room,
a carousel billowing in
boundless bloom,
watch it like the dew distil
before dawn;
in a dream of passion before
roses yawn.
My love commits one common
crime,
it steals through your blind at
bedtime,
with smiles so bright from dusky
skies;
leaving the rainbow glued to
your eyes.
This is more than a dream, feel it,
like the Icycles in Autumn, see it;
crystal clear, written in black and
white,
not to be measured though a
tender mite.
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