thee and i

und’r the eventide sky,

at which hour talketh,

“𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴

𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥

𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘩,”

our souls starteth to unveil the

secret loveth did thrust in our hearts.

 

tis’ the soul yond weaves us,

into the fabric of loveth,

just holdeth mine own handeth

in this w’rldly sweaty haste.

 

t’ weaves us,

weaves,

with thee in the leadeth,

i treasure thou,

and,

thee respect me,

(𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘦‘𝘳𝘰𝘴!)

isn’t this what we needeth?

 

thee picketh up

the shatt’r’d pieces

of mine own heart,

and teachest me to loveth again,

thee picketh up the broken me,

and mendeth me again.

 

(𝘰𝘩 𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘯!

𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘵𝘩‘𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘵𝘩.)

 

the beats of thy heart,

ah! so sweet the melody.

the lustfulness couldn’t outlaw

the pow’r of loveth.

and i realis’d yond,

“𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴‘𝘵 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥,”

in the rhapsody,

of this azure surrounding,

𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦.

 

 

~ Portia

Bhubneshwar, India