Absent a life in Victorian docility Where only chance meetings in courtyard affairs With a flick of a fan An assumption of airs And a turn of the head are the sole precipices from which a Heart leaps Accepting that one sometimes only gets glimpses Infrequent and fleeting Sometimes without meeting An unfinished sketch of an unvarnished piece Not of oil, but pastel Not mahogany, teak Still knowing the pace of this realm in this era Admits not of the patient but persistent course Of the river in Summer still sculpting the sands 'til a sprout will take root 'til it blossoms with fruit 'til it gives back that Love So transforming the lands Still my heart will not listen And to not give it rein Makes it buck, rear, and snort So I give it its head And it chases the plains And it takes me back then to a long time ago As I sift through the sketches I create you at will But leave no bauble foundered Yet some still cannot stand in the sculpture I've borrowed from the moments we've shared And the secrets I've stolen When your guise was unguarded Lend a hue to my picture Weave a thread through your fabric And then I create you Of vespers and cobwebs I do my heart's bidding I give my heart rein And my heart wants your Two Hearts The Good and the Bold The Happy and Chained To release and uphold To the Light up Above To relax, bathed in Love For it knows these things Sure There was never a maiden with motives as pure Who delighted in less than a Love Promised True... ...and never a chance though so frightening Less so than the fate that becomes of an honest wish left unspoken