Alone, I fill my hands with
Beauty.
Light spills through them,
Music and wildflowers
That bloom for hours,
But languish in my
Silent days.
Though I fill my hands
Again and again,
Beauty always flees.
Then you sit beside me.
Starbeams glimmer above
And we catch them,
Hands clasped,
Sharing Beauty in smiles,
And bouquets of words
Passed with murmuring
Wonderment.
And Beauty makes a Home.
