Early morning rise, she is still at rest,
the precious rose, unto which I am bless,
remembrance of late nights symphonic dance,
the change of life, orchestrated by her romance.

On a pillow of fine linen, she shall rest in dream,
words of emotion, how my soul she redeems,
beside her my heart, embedded on parchment,
moments of separation lends only to cement.

She is the flower, so elegant so rare,
i sometimes ponder, why she would share,
yet in this moment, my soul rests assure,
finding safe haven, in the depth of her allure.

Slowly she'll awaken, my physical being removed,
a single piece of parchment, surrenders her clue,
words that are written, while slumber did over take,
'My Wildflower you flourish, The Love we make'.

Geoff Warden

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/note-on-a-pillow/