Her Beauty Is

If she to me a tender word would dare I write, I whom sleep, beneath the star lite sky. To sit and ponder what she sees up there. Such love her face is distant off and bright. Her beauty from mine eyes, here on me pours, and metre, measured circles come to rhyme. About each struggle that I've written is for you. To love each leaf upon the tree, I'm long to think. I picked one rose then placed it in your pink vase. I left the one of many buds, I can't replace. To watch the petals come next spring to bloom again. Beauty struck a different light on me, in haste as I. I wait until the day when I am offered your intentions.