just to hear your voice

I listen to the trees speak in the aire
and whisper the tongue of Vesper

day long faire in whelm and elegance
sets lightly on your face before me

under the camphor dressed in
sun’s light as your eyes bring the night

to the close of our ancient mirth
shaded by the twilight of Corvus

now made element in the scar of winter –
for these lands speak of us in muted

voice yet sing serene the depths
of my devotion to your hand

now confessed in the day-end
crescendo of time’s reign of mist

as the sky utters its truths in nimbus grays
you are a song I cannot stop singing

© K. James Ribble