Love Song in April

Edith Henrich

We do so love with unremembered hours
of warmth and safety in the mothered bath
where our first need for loving grew from seed -
of kind hands on our bodies, of lost flowers
leaning against a long-forgotten path;
we do so love, not ever knowing whence
our passion gathers its beneficence
and reservoirs its tenderness and tears:
I know not what I bring you, save it rears
itself from caverned roots proudly this spring
and spreads its arms for destined blossoming.