victorian mush

~
As I wait for inspiration to strike
I let my mind flow to past memories, my history.
I think of you, my friend
who in short hours showed true loveliness
so that my heart was held in love, tied.
I think of friendship and its grace;
Is not giving the pouring out of one’s own very soul?
No. I reflect that giving
only fills the urn of Loving more.
Is not rhythm made by Nature’s untiring goal
for Patterns in her Weave predestined set?
Thus I give my love the more and more
and sit, to wait my filling, that is God’s behest.
~