My Love Embrace Thee

That we shall have,

by morrow's end.

Think of now

what will thou send?

Complacency,

'tis what you want?

Does it not ache,

upon you, my taunt?

I fester, and I beg,

you scowl and linger.

Neither one sorry,

barely lift a finger.

Eat of my heart,

my soul remains mine.

In the spring,

without me, you'll find.

Lag, lay wanderer,

smile at the turn.

Oft you encumber,

hence, but in an urn.

WLM 2/13/15