Est-ce pour moi? This morn ?

Watching the beauty of Her
As if his prayer
She heard from far...
Watching the blue of Her eyes
Her hair gold draped
Where He had many times small chose to die...

he asked, wondering,
'est-ce pour moi?'

And She
Smiled
As if Her ethereal glee
Turned music holy
Into a morn...
And She
Like a song
rustled
And
Murmured,
'C'est moi...'

Saying this
She showed him
Her benign supreme...
Her love unsurpassable...
Silent
Yet so so much music,

he thought
Then
he had become
A music calm...
A song himself,
A prayer...
A dreamy sabbath...
A  sun kissed Ariel
A divine  lyre...

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