Spring

A lily among thorns, that is what you are;

        a captivating beauty among women.

You have taken my heart hostage, my beloved, my bride;

        you have stolen it with one glance,

        captured it with a single strand of your hair.

How satisfying is your love, my beloved, my bride!

        Your love is more pleasing than the finest food,

        your friendship more fragrant than costly perfume!

Your lips taste sweet like honey off the comb, my bride;

        milk and honey are beneath your tongue.

The scent of your nearness is like the freshness of spring.

I have set you as a seal over my heart, my bride;

        I display your companionship as an emblem on my arm.

Our love is stronger than death,

        our togetherness, more relentless than the grave.

Our love flares up like a blazing fire, a very ardent flame.

        No amount of water can quench it;

        a raging flood cannot drown it out.

If all the wealth of the world were offered in exchange for our love,

        It would be utterly insufficient.

So arise my dearest, my beauty, my bride, my love,

        and come away with me.

The flowers are unfolding in the fields;

        the birds are warming up their songs.

Let us return to the spring of our love.

###

Written for Tammy Doll by her husband, Brad, on the Occasion of our 23^rd Wedding Anniversary 6-22-14

MY ROSE

I once picked a rose and the sun shook my hand,

Crystal clear dew saluted from petallic stand,

Insects sang a harmonious tune: Farewell to the Setting Moon,

While birds lullabied, I . . . cried.

Tears of joy, I cried, of joy and sorrow,

Of past and present, of day and morrow.

Rare is the beauty which rouses them both.

The line which divides our deepest emotions need not be large,

Nay, but as the sand separates earth from oceans,

Rare is the beauty which rouses them both.

When I kiss my rose, I understand,

Why teardrops fall, what God has planned.

Together our minds are a harmonious tune,

And every moment, a honeymoon.

And listen, as I may, to love’s lullaby,

Of joy and sorrow, past and present, day and morrow,

I . . . cry.

Rare is the beauty which rouses them both.

Rare is your beauty, Tammy, my rose.

###
Written for Tammy Doll by her husband, Brad