Young Love
By Corynn Bernhardt
Come, sweet child, love me pure,
While thine eyes so clean,
Scrub away thine own self blame
And bring to innocent reminisce.
Surely, you cannot do such task,
For thine own soul so clear
Like ice crystals from melted snow.
Thine piercing stare holds me still.
Common beauties stay untouched.
Your face a smooth palette,
Such as a pedal of the primrose.
Thine thin hair shaped as lightning.
Love for such a precious creature,
Loved thrice as much in every day passed.
A blossoming flower is no such trade.
Comparable to any you are not.
My love I shall pour on to you
And take away thine own sorrows.
Thine tears shant be necessary
And shall be wiped away like windows.
Thine laughter and smile beckons me.
How thine lit presence brightens me.
Purposeful grace and reverence
I long to be as such.
Our kingdoms are of clouds and boxes,
Mountains of blankets and carpet.
Only our height depicts our age.
Our minds a foreign place to all.
So drink up thine own innocence,
Sweet nectar is thine fruit of childhood.
Give me to drink thy gift of imagination,
And love unto me as I to you
You shall not, but mine
prevails.
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