The raindrop's tinkle, ever so light,
The dancing moonbeam, playing at night.
The gentle caress, not the tightened hold,
The fleeting glance, not the staring bold.
Not the blinding sun, but the candle's glow,
Not stormy seas, but the river's flow,
Not rushing waters, but the gentle shine,
Of unshed tears, yours and mine.
Not the spoken word but the parted lips,
Not the reaching out, but the elusive slips,
Not heavy perfume, but the fragrant whiff
Not stormy quarrels, but the lover's tiff.
Early Dawns in the hues of East,
They stir me most, that stir me least.
Wednesday, March 10, 2021