Resist not my hands that'll move
Over and under with pulsating veins
And scatter all the knots and seams in the way
As pebbles on the path of streams among hills
That roar into unstoppable falls.
The surge that'll move
Through soft-soothing hands
Over our babe in the cradle asleep,
Now through my lips and finger will flow
In these our honeysuckle days.
Hours are lost amidst unceasing zest
That blossoms amidst sheets of sweet unrest.