My beating heart renews in rhythms, dear
And deep. But once, it’s beating did demand
To resurrect a past that beat less clear
Than love’s full bloom — which we can still command.

A bloom could grow within our reclaimed hearts,
Reclaiming flowers from our younger love.
Can we our earth re-till, ‘fore love departs,
Again proclaiming life that grows thereof?

Our arbor clings, as vines, that we might last
Though oft intense, it’s oft intent to cling
To bitter mem’ry’s shaded, shudd’ring past
Defeats. But now, perhaps, we’ve everything.

The sightless, foolish momus falls aside
Our connate garden should not be denied.