You pace with the gaudy crowd,
the pied throngs on urban land,
but you reckon all unbowed
that Every Man Remains an Island.
Albeit the work is often shared
and you adore her and would love
to be loved forever and cared
for, treasuring loyalty, your Truelove.
A bold bridge, you say, can cross
even the icy rivers of the winter,
yet the shimmery stars across
the sky offer infinite encounter.
And as a bleached new daybreak
prepares to cast its sallow nets,
nascent shadows at the lake
trickle down to petals of florets.
And then the alarm clock rings,
a reversed dream ignites a bonfire
of the lyre in your heart that brings
forth a new verse in jazzy sapphire.