Being Loved.

To be loved is a bower of roses Heavy with warm, scenting the deepest curve Of my soul, or hours of rainbows, floating Colour into my mind, and observing How they gleam light onto secret dreams my Heart melts in a smile. To feel I am loved Fills me with true tree-green peace. Cloudless sky Impregnates bluest of blue in me. Above All I walk straight now, taller, sedately Measuring time with hope. Love showing how, If patience reigns, our day will not be late In arriving. It will appear, allowing Love it's own space. Destiny, fulfilling Fate's call, I shall be loved then, as God wills.