Lullaby

 

A rush from passion’s gate,

To our garden springtime bloom.

A body given to sublime,

And hormones whisper back to me.

Humming the tune with the lyrical,

A word at a time, a lullaby.

The rhythm of a rocking chair,

The softness of chenille.

With little fingers reaching mine.

And time to wait.

 

~ Martin Eichinger