Thy Rare Gift (Poem)

Doubting tendencies in suspension

For how long, who knows?

Not even I, who's in possession

Knows how thy "time" goes.

Every core longs for merely a taste

Of thy land's rare gift.

Though for thy sake, make waste not, nor haste

Nor thyself's adrift.

All the world says: "Life's but a segment

Of downfalls and dreams."

So are these fits of merriment

By one's lovely beams.

Soaring through skies of studded silver

Indeed, however

Keep thee sane; stray not to night's shiver

Or downhearts' ever.

Now, go flee to where thy heart takes thee

And feast over love

With whom this rare gift is meant to be;

None's less nor above.

-gm