By Yasen Vedrin
(The Vine of Engadi)
“I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine:
he feedeth his flock among the lilies.”
(Song of Solomon 6:3)
How I desire this joy to never fade,
Imbued with scent that clover fields impart.
By burning sunsets into night we're led,
Yet every rising morning tears us apart.
And that high tremor from the bells above
Recalls a shepherd's call upon the breeze.
Grant me your soft caress, a vow of love,
To burn me through the meadows' rolling seas.
Let day now end – with colorful sheep asleep.
Let all the bells grow still, their echoes die.
And in the thirst for your sweet face to keep,
To drink you up – as white as milk on high.
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