How shall I know my love in heaven's sphere?
As she'd have cast her barest essence form,
and hue that once was known, may not appear
nor sight anew in Eden, then conform.

My plea for her, unheard in foreign tongue?
Angelic speech may single none, but all,
and whilst the angel's realm my deeds have done
she'd fuse with higher realm, and heed no call.

Although unseen, her spirit - I have touched;
such depths the bond that death had left as strong,
and onto each of love that made I clutched,
that would eternal love with us belong.

Ah yes! Our love on earth had formed a sun!
And would in haven then, have glowed and won.

The meadows sprout alive with ochre swirls
emerging from - familiar zephyr streams
as tho' through leafage tongue an essence twirls,
but whom had sought and won my Autumn dreams.

The rhythmic chatter's one I've heard before
that drummed my infant years in Falls of old,
with sweetly moans of breezes rife from yore
then swept adrift my thoughts out through the wold.

Amid the tanned and yellow pattern leaves
a brittle patter raps upon this heart,
and blows my wonder where one's love believes;
that here unites what season's drift apart.

O' mother! Yes, it's you within the fall
returning me that love that were my all.

Misfortune's frowned at me with great disdain
and wrought the winter's frost for further quest;
to coat unseen - the stone on love's remain,
hence I in mind exhume what grief depressed.

Her grave's unjust to meet what beauty's owed,
no roman style exalts her fairest youth
if scholars old had glimpsed what grace she showed;
her tombstone would inscribe a closer truth.

That somber mason, near the date she passed
had failed to scribe my death of love to be;
for too below the ice, in urn - like cast
still bleeds of mourn, the lover's pith of me.

Upon reflection, snow has troubled none
I need no stone, when I'm already one.

When mind's own memoirs wither down to bone
then whom shall know my love in distant years?
For lest I carve her ode on graven stone
tho' grey is colder than my love appears.

Tho' many birches bear my hearted etch
and golden rays may stipple love and shrine,
arborists dead to old will send my sketch
to paper sheets, inscribed of love not mine.

On webbing sites my posts shall render true
but then unused accounts shall too erase
or kin may not so trust what's old, to new
my love that lost in time, will too in space.

This timeless form of type, I now shall choose!
Yet if undone, let love in death, recuse.

My love for you is as the water falls
cascading off the higher bedrock peak,
outpouring rugged edged and rigid walls
in endless flowing streams, from love's mystique.

To sparkling summer dew on cradling leaves,
condensed to drops, when you were playing dreams,
then from the slightest brush upon your sleeves
then downpours honey scented, splashing seams.

When pupils soak and darker skies then seep,
in every pearl descent, I'll be within
no burden then alone in moistened weep
when grief has dried, the falls again shall win.

My whirlpools gush! Or trickle morns anew
or crawl from wetted eyes, for only you.

Before the earth reclaims my bodies' ash,
what shall I miss the most of all her lush?
Her eyes that flutter each a darken lash?
That usher rhythmic beats of rapid flush.

With eyes azure that rise as ocean waves
that aquas mine, and in my pupils won
her country dress that only beauty braves
of golden glow that brought my will undone.

Or how her lips embed an inborn blush
for makeup only then would hue impair.
Then of the summer passion made on plush
when whistling lover's breezes kissed her hair.

How hard to die when she still glistens fair
as I will miss her all, that love could bear.

No doubt, her temple shines a jeweled trove
each carat gold would glimpse of lover's wealth,
shall I then try entreat her guarded cove;
and win a love, immured from suitor's stealth?

Her lair is wreathed by tears of bitter moat,
a soften rippling tide conceals my stride
each imprint leaves no cast or sandy float
with only faint demures to serve as guide.

For dense, uncertain fogging clouds her glow
as tho' her light's obscured, so none may find,
or love, in templed grief incensing woe
with none a paddled boat so left behind.

Her water's deep and cold, than to allow
tho' having tried, her lantern's brighter now.