Her eyes flash like tears
From a tumbling stream.
Her hands flutter like doves
Made nervous by a changing wind.
Her voice strains like a willow
Made full by summer rain.

If I were to stoop
And drink from those waters,
Pluck both doves from uncertainty
And rest them to my chest,
Wound the tree to bleed the strain
And let it heal.

Could I then
Drink forever
Hold forever
Rest forever
In the sylvan shade
Of the graceful willow?

Nomad Omnia

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/-325/