Gather.

Gather my dreams in your arms, as you would gather bluebells in spring,
in the soft, forest green;
Gather them gently
for soon, comes the fading...
like pale, meadow morn-mist
no more, to be seen.
Gather them soft, in the way that you gather men's glances...
like wind gathers leaves, in the cold,
chill breath of Autumn;
no more, the returning
for, soon then, the losing these dreams, soft and gold.

Gather my words in the way that you gather the hopes of admirers,
who fall at your feet;
Gather them gently; they will not mislead you
with soft, velvet promises, couched in deceit.
Gather them softly,
for they are the thoughts of my heart,
and such thoughts are so easily bruised;
and, in the gathering, hear the soft whisper...
such, that is given, will not be misused.

Gather my thoughts in the way that you gather the pale, morning sunlight,
serene...
in your hair.
Gather them gently, for they hold no falsehood, or promise,
swift broken; nor cunning-guised snare.
Gather them soft, in the way that you gather men's hearts...
be they truthful...
or, be they untrue;
thoughts of the heart are not free for the choosing...
but, if it were so...
then, the choice would be...
You.

Gather my Love as you would gather soft cloak about you,
safe-warm from the chill of the night;
Gather it gently, for it asks no questions,
has no expectations... as other loves might.
Gather it soft...
it will never betray you,
and knows not at all, feelings of jealousy.
Nor will it try to intrigue, or to change you,
to something, perhaps,
you might not want to be.

Gather the dreams, and the words, and the thoughts... and the Love,
they are yours...
if you want them to be.
All that I was... that I am...
that I might become,
are then, as nothing, should you turn from me.
But, should you choose not to gather these things I would offer...
no matter; just whisper... adieu;
and sometimes, perhaps...
gently smile, and remember
that somewhere out there...
someone cares about you.