The secret things of my heart must
remain hidden
until
the
appointed
time.
The secrets
will
be
yours and
mine.
And will
bloom
ever so
sweet,
ever so pure,
in
art
and
rhyme.
And honest
words
written.
Over
time.
They may
bloom
into
a
love
divine.
Ever so
slowly.
To bloom
over
time.