 WAITING FOR THEE You are still my knight in shining armor, my king of kings...and I, thy maiden fair. Waste not our cup of forbidden wine, for only one sip can touch our lips at a time. Only for Thee, doth my heart beat as thunder in my breast, calling out for this fire to be quenched, lest my soul wither and die before thee. I shall go to the meadow to wait for my prince, laying there in that field of sweet clover. Waiting for the thunder of thy steed's hooves upon the ground, closer, closer still, till my eyes see the cloud of dust, rising, suddenly baring your image, with sunlight glinting as you ride, the steel of thy sword rings out music as I await the strength of your arms to sweep me up to ride with thee into the setting sun. Author: Shirley Parish Hatfield 
 
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