Young, slender, soft and small,
Twigs stretching from thy palm,
Rings of shining dew at morning’s call
Clashing beautifully against my arm.

An ode to the thin spindles of affection
Tightly tangling around my heart’s string,
Sharply strummed with sleepy, dainty precision
Playing a song that only dreams could once sing.

A medley of feelings: peaking elation
And troughs deep enough for hot brews,
Between branches and amidst conversation
It seems my mind and heart can find truce.

It is said flowers that bloom tears to eye
Should be left to grow as beauty unpicked,
I must agree to admire and assure I am nearby,
To offer my service to such that has me rooted, fixed.