You asked me for my love once
one waning summer aft;
I had kept it in a jar by the window
warming, aneath the sun.

You asked me for my love once
on a high golden hour;
a blend of hers and his and mine
shimmering, up on display.

You asked me for my love once
but you were hidden away from such light
behind cold curtail of wall
a floundering might;

You asked me for my love once
but you knew already that plight.

You asked me for my love once
but you were not that glassen rapture;
another was freckled by the wind’s blur
I was speckled by the fertile lure

You asked me for my love once
but I could not improve of your nurture;
no resplendence of warmth to find
nor knowledge’s suture –

You asked me for my love once
but I could only hollow myself cold
to see you bright singing bold
you asked me for my love once
but I

I am to selfish sold.

You asked me for my love, once
and proffered was your own:
a box, of proven age
for a soul the crave of reckoning –

You asked me for my love, once
and proffered thus your own:
a sapling, hidden and enclosed
pruned and chosen by your hand

You asked me for my love once
and proffered all your own
but it could not sustain me
I could not be free –

You asked me for my love once,
and I can but plea:
keep safe that wooden box
tend to its fragile thee
and please, please
ask not again of me.