To My Lady, Sandi

My lady is…
a gemstone,
of ruby fire
and holy air,
The Glory-Cloud reflecting


My lady is…
a blossom,
with petal soft
and fragrance lofting,
higher with the pressing


My lady is…
a fierce thunderstorm,
whose life giving rains
and deep-crashing refrains,
make fools of the assuming


My lady is…
a ripened peach,
hot-pierced flavor bleeds
far surpassing hunger’s needs,
and mine alone for the tasting


My lady is…
a stalk of wheat,
whose golden kernels fall
earth anchored, reaching tall,
her image six times repeating.

My lady is…
a kitten,
whose batting paws at play
and mischievous dark eyes say:
a tree is for climbing


My lady is…
a foreign land,
whose unknown mountain faces
and pagan, dark-forested places,
make joy of each night’s exploring


My lady is…
a summer evening breeze,
with tantalizing tastes
of cool refreshing grace,
day’s labor’s heat rescinding


My lady is…
the face of God,
my Beatrice
who fans the lust,
for Him who is Life Everlasting.