What taste, that stirs this once so weary moment,
Tempts my heart to stillness ‘mid its blush-like stain?
The sky has filled, unheralded, the veins of hope
That hovered there, winter blue, and wary
Of our fragile, silent, oft-bruised dreams.

The clouds are torn, their oceans spilled and well spent
O’er the green-soaked sprout and slowly stirring plain.
While here, my eyes are pulled to wander heaven’s slope,
And linger, hushed, and light, and airy,
To sew my heart with your smile’s seams.