Flurry & Flower Poem by Frank Witte

Again the hour's late at night,
or maybe just dusky early mourn'.
Twilight seeming many ages past,
as my path brings me to you.
Minutes to spare I have only few,
as dawn's nightmare's approaching fast.
As if stung by love's eiry thorn,
I'm hauled by some other-worldly might.

You're safety is; that you'ld never ask.
Should I shed my heart spoon by spoon;
you'ld probably seek it to swiftly pass
like a witless cloud on a sunny day in June.

And so there's no other refuge
to which I would rather turn
Before in the coming sudden deluge
of July's Sun I will wither and burn.

So I bid you for a little bed of marked soil,
the peace of shade where a tear I'ld spoil.
I have no grandeur, no beauty, just a final hour
during which I'ld be your a little flurried flower