Hearts that each day burn, and bleed anew,
Must not fear the loveless, nor their daggers that coldly run hearts through;
But nude wake each morn without a shield nor fear -
And search again for the rarest of hearts to draw it nigh
So mightily to your breasts, to whisper into that ear - my ear,
That chance is a ledge on a mountain high - those who leap do die,
But love, the grandest war most often lost, is one to daily wage, with a peace its prize
That twinkles twixt two lover’s torrid, untamed eyes.

I pray no men, nor any man, have your gentle soul calloused,
But if its so, then drink deeply the remedy of my heart, my sacred chalice -
An opiate for your soul and a giver of winged and wondrous dreams
With which your pains may in an instant wane and distant seem:
There is, my love, my dreams between us intertwined
And now and evermore into my life ahead I step to find
You by my eyes aglow and in a daze entranced,
Where by my tongue or pen your soul is pierced by my novice, but true romance.

R. L. Wolleson