I will write and write and write

with all my might...

to you this and all such nights.

For as this happens

I grow, become, rise upwards in a kind of flight!

Your beauty of soul and face, how so when?

Somehow God graces me

with your Angelic femininity.


As long as I have the power of speech.

As long as I have thoughts to think

needs, wishes, desires that leap,

as long as I have a voice to sing adoringly

to the living proof of heavenly bliss--

just that long will I be yours to keep.


I love you.

I love the sound of your voice

I shall never hear.



I love the face I shall never see.

We are back in the Middle Ages

and I (for one) not at all unhappily.


It is better, in fact, we not meet,

In all honesty, were we to meet,

what else would life hold for me?

What other purpose and meaning?

What goal? What point continued breath?

To have been with an Angel (where one reads),

proof of God, and still be alive?

What would I do the next day?