DESIRE

Sky as far as the eye can see,

For which, says he, some poetry,

A rhyme, perhaps, to mystery,

Like birds fly free of misery.

It seems a shame though, clouding sky

With thoughts of birds who glide and fly,

With words on which to hang a lie

Or dream myself into a sigh.

I'd rather rest in love's sweet charms,

Far from delusion's fearful harms,

Wound tight about with tireless arms

To save me from those maddening qualms.