Onward I would march

The silent breeze that rustles the
Bleak tree, my hair too, it ruffles,
Like the tender caress of my love
And so the evening ended
In a note of fondness.

It had been shortened, time,
By thoughts and music of you.
What is not yours, love.
This evening is but a small consign
To reflect on your perfection.

My path has been alight,
But I have trusted your eyes.
My mind never sought refuge
From the stinging sold deluge.
What kindness is wrought
From your shaping touch.

The directions lose bearing when
The heart seeks your presence.
The oceans would seem silly
If they were to bar my way.
Onward I would march,
Onward I would march…..