.
With love so dear and sheerest light,
Arrived to clear moors of heart,
As it bled for near myth in fey touch,
Grained by times and dust apart,
The moon was cast as sun was shy
And rain did fall winsome, tasking,
Suddenly a meadow appeared new,
Flying colours under sun basking
And as a child once more, I became,
To feel such graces slowly divine,
No longer lost in gardens of dream,
But be rapt in broken light so kind.