The rain has not ceased
since it began its ceaselessness;
a day I cannot now remember,
though it was only six ago.
Earth and sky hold mutual watership,
Either general is down and gray.
But held in the eyes that hold –
the beauty of Beholder bold –
is a prettier time of day.
A time I do wish would stay.
I
have not writ so many words
that none more can be written
of this picture's higher worth to me
like spoken love from the mouth of God.
Around on the horse of nature's sorrow,
the world and I are to be sent.

I saw those wildflowers you seemed to speak of.
Down that road you seemed to speak of.
On that bend, near that brook you seemed to speak of.
By that spreading oak.

All of this was spoke
by a closed mouth and hushed glance.
And those wildflowers
so wild in the white,
Starry in respite,
danced me into the night in fragile breath.

We spun, we spun,
The light drops and I,
to flail catch a bit of snow,
I lost them somewhere,
So wild in the white,
Flowers with their lightening dresses,
Tresses all alight.
The blended somewhere in there
So wild in the white,
Dancing on and into evening
Into the night, into the night.

Dear love,
how they brace me for a grace
that I cannot handle.
A grace, graceful
So pretty and then so pure,
those wildflowers you seemed to speak of,
and of yet so unsure.
They truly were beautiful beyond the words you never shared.
Don’t think upon your loveliness
Be sure, my love, be sure.

For those wildflowers were all of you
and your silence stored.
You and all your silence stored
that I so adored
I wish to seem to say right back
Of the way you seem to speak this way,
That down that road I know I find,
On that bend and brook I find,
Underneath the oak I find,
You to have and hold as mine.