I ask a question, nor know how it must go

      I ask a question, nor know how it must go;
      Not what love is, nor why, nor when, nor if,
      Nor countless other lovers' queries sown
      Upon the field of stars in breathless guess.
5     No.  Although my question comes no wiser
      Than poor petitioner to ring-rich lord
      Or clueless king surrounded by advisors,
      And comes but as words seeking a word,
      Still I'll ask the air and hope you hear--
10    Who, though made but for yourself, give satisfaction
      To eyes that quest for beauty, or ears
      Alert for that triple-trill perfection.
      Still I ask:  Will you, all love, have all me still?
      And stilly sit, attentive to your will.

From the collection "Supposing Roses"

Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]

More information available on gregglory.com.