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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2213758
by jaya
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2213758
My love finds rest in my lap.
Be gentle, be silent Oh, wind!

Don’t make a noise oh! Wind,
blow without sound.
My tired love lay on my lap
so blow calm, blow silent.

My lord has no rich footstool
nor a jeweled crown.
Yet he is my love, the king of my heart.

Be careful how you move.
He looks up at the slightest sound
He is alert at the murmur of leaves
You’ll be the cause if he wakes up.

Go get him a soft bed from the moon,
fetch a nice pillow from the clouds
Fan him with the branches borrowed from the trees
Sail away silently, let him sleep.


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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2213758