When Her Opulence Nears Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

At the stroke of midnight, under moonlight.
Calm envelops my darkest fears.
Gazing tranquilly amidst the starlight
When her opulence nears.

She's why my hand doesn't, except
Misfortune, why my soul concedes
There is more under heaven & earth.
The eye intercepts without conceits.

So, aware am I of my imperfections.
As I take her hand in my heart
So aware am I of my cold inflexions.
And the dark sides I must discard.

But I can't leave her blossom unpicked.
Love's destiny is like polished stone.
Beauty cascades over all hardness.
Softening, rocks into soft, fine loam.