Wag: Response

Once was Charles,
by Queenly chiding,
given to know that
shy was he to gift his tongue.

An now that he's hung a while
upon that quiply comment
does he oathe without equivocating-

My sweet, my tongue I give,
to you, most freely,
replete with it's limited ability
to frame such sounds
designed to touch
your dearest hearing.

These bellows too, my lungs,
give you easily I,
to resonate the chords
where my throat's heart thrums.

And if you'll bear my nearness
these cardiac sounds ,
these pounds of rhythm mine
outside the poor constraints
of a wronging, rectilinear toy of time.

These I can and will and do
most natur'lly give,
if only you might deign
return them then to me,
leave me room that I might employ
my fearless songs and whispers
toward some intimation of eternity,
blow soft upon your dear heart's
wondrous, sometime wavering flame
while flowers fragrant
now bend and bow
and bud and bloom-

the efflorescence
of your one true name.