Of His Childhood Sweatheart, Nursed Poem by james watkin

Here's my head, and with it, the burden
Sweet, of world-wearying plaint.
"Lay it down, dear, dearest, on your 'saint'
For her miracle to lighten".

Bands of cascading wistaria I saw
Over Heaven's embankment.
"A be-charmed eye the miracle lent
Which over my brow did soar".

- which were succeeded by visions, tumbling
Aureoled, over Time's spool.
"No, no, of destinies I would be, fool
In 'yes yes' but fumbling! "