By Yasen Vedrin
(The Vine of Engadi)
“Thy lips, O my spouse, drop
as the honeycomb...”
(Song of Solomon 4:11)
Around me now the bees with passion hum,
They gather nectar from each tender sigh.
And to your lips my flying call has come,
To be your amber, prayed for from on high.
With gentle scents that flowers softly bear –
Become a fragrant shelter for my soul.
Poured out of love. Arrayed in sunny flare.
A dream that made the stars and sun a whole.
You smell of honey. Sweetness flows and rings
From all the trills your ringing voice can cast.
I would not ask what joy your fortune brings,
Because with you, the happy one am I at last.
No comments:
Post a Comment