Alaskan Sunrise
Would that I could know
The names of more temperate ones
Bringing light to wakened souls
By your leave as silver runs.
The nature of your bearing
Yields not to my desire
The host of thy caring
Lends breath to my fire.
The spires in prose
Relieved by your light
Kissed by dew on the rose
Forgiven by the night.
Lesser men would kneel
Though reverent in love
On my knee will I steal
Your surrendered glove.
Oh thou in slumber
As these words I write
My smile is encumbered
This love is so right.
© James Fletcher
September 23, 2002
