Where Art Thou, Mine Fairest Beloved

O' thou wile-est Cupid

how is it that thou hast fastened thine attention

upon the arrow,

it seems, that thou whittle out from

the stem of a rose red flower?

Aimed from thine o' so mysterious dwelling,

targeting mine heart,

to pierce mine very own soul.

Falling, in obeisance,

wherein is all for me but to

close mine eyes

envisioning the grace of which is the throne of Heaven,

from whence I shouldest submit in supplication

but for a path, should it be difficult or nay, 
to follow,

wherein I shouldest encounter

mine own heart’s one desire;

victim of that o' thou wile-est Cupid

and the bow.

Opening mine eyes,

to mine feet arise,

humbly dignified by Heaven’s grace,

looking to the ground; what is this

that I shouldest cast mine eyes upon?

Couldeth it be?

A bestowed upon petals rose red trail,

which I shouldest travel, with mine companion faith,

that it shouldest lead to the heart

of mine fairest beloved.

Where art thou, mine fairest beloved?

© February 13, 2011 Michael C. Teniente. Los Angeles, CA.