The sun is high overhead,
and the gravel is low underfoot,
and I’m trying to think of a word to describe
how I feel, and I want it well put.
There’s light through leaves like stained glass,
and light in your hair like a glow,
and I’m soaking it up as we’re walking along
and that’s why we’re taking it slow.
A zephyr glides gently our way.
It’s warm as our honey-gold bands
and just as soft as your palm in mine
in absent-mindedly intertwined hands.
Now I’m catching the scent of the brook,
that wonderful cattail bouquet.
It’s getting mixed up with your orchid perfume
and I’m getting swept clean away.
Light laughter comes from the distance,
from a potluck-and-picnicking crowd,
but all I can hear is my love for you
and I hope that it isn’t too loud.
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