“Wouldst taketh of my hand and lead me home?”
A plaintiff cry from one not blessed to see
How then I thought, couldst I be free to roam
With n’er but half such trust to give, as thee
Whilst guiding her I felt a gentle calm
Pass over me; I know not whence it came
Her touch was firm yet fleet upon my arm
As fingers searched for mine; didst proffer name
When glancing o’er her face, of this I swear
Awareness filled my heart; to still the beat
I mouthed my own, by way of silent Prayer
An image framed; no-one couldst dare compete
In bidding fond farewell, perchance mistook;
I canst but here relate, that knowing look