Whatever creation is

No time to judge
The flowers the dust
Whatever creation is,
It is imbued with love.
And must! Have the good-
Sense to fly like a dove.

No time for ill will
But lust corrupts
Even a nightingale
Sings her best love
Ever so shyly at dusk
With a heady, smell of musk.

So harvest what love
You might carry...
Be but empty, and full
For in death:
Shall we not all truly,
Marry for love?

Whatever creation is,
It is imbued within us.
Golden as a river green
Expansive as a world unseen...
Silver as a mayfly blue
I’m in love with you.