Building Up, 'Off That Mound Poem by James McLain

You could when I should then recvice you, within me.
Her song that I sang, did naught when she lost, I became.
To deep such delight, would she help, but never could tell me.
That with I, could her music is loud, crystal and so clear.
I tarry when speaking and sleep then therein, much too long.
I would build up high off that fair mound.
Warm is the air, green grass moved all around on the ground.
Sunny freckled are hers those I am lost, in long arms.
Wild soft warm legs walking up are those caves of desire.
And all whom could hear, did I see them then off, there between.
The cliff off there yonder, standing forsaken alone, rocky crag.
A ledge to the edge looking up and out off into the rift, off too where.
Trying to speak, I can only but croak, looking out, down below.
And instead the full moon shines down upon me, the sky is wide open.
Thus when I look, it is more throaty and vibrant,
and richly behinds dark clouds she has at last, I try and became.
Look beware and I looked, why I looked, she climbs up and becomes.
Sitting up now wide awake and aware looking down, I look up,
The moon throught the window it rises turns yellow and sets.