LXIII / e.e. cummings

be unto love as rain is unto colour;create 
me gradually(or as these emerging now 
hills invent the air) 
                             breathe simply my each how 
my trembling where my invisble when.             Wait

if i am not heart,because at least i beat 
--always think i am gone like the sun which must go 
sometimes,to make an earth gladly seem firm for you: 
remember(as those pearls more than surround this throat) 
i wear your dearest fears beyond their ceaselessness(nor has a syllable of the heart's eager dim 
enormous language loss or gain from blame or praise) 
but many a thought shall die which was not born of dream 
while wings welcome the year and trees dance(and i guessthough wish and world go down,one poem yet shall swim