What doth the red bird say?

A Poem

What doth the red bird say,
At the close of day when the daylight fades?
She sings her song, so solemnly alone,
Waiting for her lover, to which her heart is sewn.

It was in the silence of my heart that I heard a cry—
Billowing and pillowing upon my mind.
And in thine eyes, I thought I could spy,
A shimmering shimmer that shimmered on by.

And lo! What doth thy face reveal—
Pretending to pretend, as if all is real?
Though the hill remains steep, the well we fill.
Some serious sauntering, seemingly still.

I climb the vines that clothe thy tower,
But mine armor is heavy, it only devours.
I cast it off and it falls away,
Remaining quiet, never to wake.

At last I turn mine eyes upon thine,
Hands interlocking, in a moment we dine.
Yet I do not imbibe in this food of mine,
Instead I gaze at thee, my mind a shrine.

Sleep finds me quickly, whispering meekly—
“All is well, the bed is made neatly.
Thy lover is near thee, quietly dreaming.
Heed no hounding, no harrowing waiting.”

And so I dream of thee, in all of thy splendor. 
Of thy beauty beyond the words of philosophers.
They clamored and cried of cruelty and beauty,
But they spoke futility, for they did not know thee.