Lions Mane

Four in the morning

i rise from my bed

unable to sleep, so

i write you instead

to tell you of something

my lips cannot say

excepting this poem

that might wind its way

into your mind and

then to your heart

these words on a page 

a fire i might start

to burn off the chaff

in the brown fields of winter

to leave the ground ready

the word farmer enters

each sentence a seed 

gently planted and covered 

to one day find growing 

you here my dear lover 

sew deep in the clover ~