Two lovers canoodling in the woods along the path whilst I run past,

They, embarrassed, disentangle

Having canoodled my way into conundrum so many times, and wishing that I'd known that which I now do,

I would love to tell them to not
let
    go,

instead, (hold tighter still)

For I am but a stranger, anonymous, fleeting, passer by

And there are far too few moments of (embrace)
in dappled morning sunlight  breath
                                       Beside tall oak trees,
to let a few
            foot
                 steps create, so much alarm so as to
lose each
other

I would tell them

when beauty's found, no matter where,
hold on, gaze fixed-and-deep
into its eyes, and declare
that this life time, there will be no interruptions;
steadfastly defend the moment;
ignore all else that beckons,
as so much will
phantoms all
and take arms against that which would otherwise intrude

No passerby, or gilded path should draw you from this place,
this
depth

you must not allow that to come to pass

For, in the final accounting, years from now perhaps, the two lovers will lament having disregarded a moment enraptured, for but a passerby -

I would love to tell them all of this,

but I’ve long since run passed them,

just a passerby