Early morning rise, she is still at rest, <br />the precious rose, unto which I am bless, <br />remembrance of late nights symphonic dance, <br />the change of life, orchestrated by her romance. <br /> <br />On a pillow of fine linen, she shall rest in dream, <br />words of emotion, how my soul she redeems, <br />beside her my heart, embedded on parchment, <br />moments of separation lends only to cement. <br /> <br />She is the flower, so elegant so rare, <br />i sometimes ponder, why she would share, <br />yet in this moment, my soul rests assure, <br />finding safe haven, in the depth of her allure. <br /> <br />Slowly she'll awaken, my physical being removed, <br />a single piece of parchment, surrenders her clue, <br />words that are written, while slumber did over take, <br />'My Wildflower you flourish, The Love we make'.<br /><br />Geoff Warden<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/note-on-a-pillow/
