In whispers soft as morning dew’s caress,
I plead, my dear, for love’s true tenderness.
When sorrow grips my heart in deep distress,
And dawn reveals a world in bleak duress,
What gentle act, what word, might draw your eye?
What fervent plea could win your sweet reply?
Yet when we part, and sorrow makes us sigh,
‘Tis sorrow’s weight that bids the light goodbye.
It pains me so, this ache within my breast,
As we in sorrow’s shadow find no rest.
With heavy heart, we mourn what love’s confessed,
And words, like dreams, slip through our grasp, unguessed.
It grieves me so, beneath the silent moon,
Why must our wounds persist, our love marooned?
Oh, sorrow’s touch, that dims love’s bright lagoon,
Must we, in darkness, find love’s sweet commune?
What act, what plea, might stir your heart to mine?
Oh-oh-oh,
How can I bridge this chasm, love, divine?
When tempests rage and stars refuse to shine,
What steps must I take, my love, to enshrine?
What must I do to earn your love’s embrace?
Oh-oh-oh,
What must I do to see love’s radiant face?
When thunder roars and lightning scars the space,
Guide me, my love, to find our sacred place.
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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