Sookie Quats
Beneath the shady breezed kissed stock,
The mind takes stock and looks for thee,
My thee, my love, my heartbeat’s clock,
The ticking clock I cannot see.
The passing hour that moves too slow,
So slowly turn the hands of time,
And like wild thyme on winds doth blow,
Love blows the breeze of sweet sublime.
Upon the breeze, I hear thy voice,
Oh, sweet thy voice that calls the flame,
Thy flame that makes my heart rejoice,
Rejoicing love within thy name.
Form: Wreathed Quatrains
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