Song of Songs
SONG OF SONGS
Let me pluck ripened apples and strawberries for your delight
And put my hand under your head to soften the ground on which we lie tonight.
You are the white marguerites in my meadow flowing with deep grass,
The melodious tinkling of small bells shaped from shining glass.
Oh, the perfume of your soul is as a thousand roses at sway
In a walled garden on a wet and thunderous day.
Let me not stray from this place for it is the centre
Of the very heaven I hope to find; and when I enter
The dales of Paradise, let me first see
Your sweet face smiling - as it does now - at me.
For you are the heaven I have known
Before I approach God’s golden throne.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .
Entered in Sara Kendrick’s Contest "Song Of Solomon"
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