Paths Of Love Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Had I walked within your dream
Across its meadows, wet sheen
Serpentine as a windblown moth
In all its dizzy-hot loves wroth.

Would I feign a far-flung malaise?
Would I dare hold back bouquets?
Walk silently on washed-out shores.
Whispering delinquently to be yours,

If divinely now my soul is damned
What lease of time should I now save?
But for fallen embers, clammed
In a kernel, evergreens, outbrave