Seeds Poem by Gordon Merritt

Tis sad, words to far and distant to be heard
Sentiment of a bygone era, to faint to hear but for the chosen few
Too few now to be counted and I fear too soon gone.

A brushed cheek, a flushed cheek and one heart skips a beat
Hand to cheek means nothing now but to those who capture hearts
and to those whose hearts need capture...

Hair in my face, a perfumes trace to speed the beat of a lonely heart
Touch of a hand, nape of neck and the lobe of an ear to lighty bite
Too subtle for these times but

Desire is a lost art, want is a lost need... to fast we speed
and loose the charm and fervor of lust... for want is the seed of love,
and seeds need time to grow.