It Is I, Who Loves Thee More Than The Sun Poem by Shirley Harrison

It is I, who loves thee more than the sun
With fiery eyes and golden locks undone
No man presumes such tender gasp of breath
Such beauty could send my lungs to their death

Let's not weep for sins, but rejoice each day
All the stars the moon and indeed the clay
Let not the weeping willow die so young
Saved the sweet honey from bee's who have stung

Dusk until dawn, to your love I have clung
Dreaming of a world that sing songs unsung
I, who dies in the forest of your heart
It's I whom will die in the forest dark

But wait no, I shall never lay me down
Thou shall be loved, to thee I take my bow.