I like the music, the rhythm of words,
The chirping of crickets, the calling of birds,
The soft rain descending on salting and ness,
The warm touch of sunlight, the west wind's caress,
The beauty of young love, the flowers of spring,
The petals of autumn and winter's wild fling.
May summer songs rise from cathedrals of green
To praise, like the skylark, the wonders I've seen,
The riches I've gathered, that couldn't be bought,
The treasures of memory filling my thoughts -
Of us, running barefoot on bright yellow sands,
Of you, turning cartwheels on soft, gentle hands.
I like the music, the rhythm of rhyme,
And you here beside me, perfection in time.