To Her

It is early winter morning on earth.
She is sleeping in a comfortable hearth.
Dark but rich water is holding her life.
It is a love nest, far from regular strife.
She perhaps chases murmur of honey bees.
And smells freshly bloomed flowers.
She perhaps dreams of doves on the clouds.
And smiles at the sound of a million kiss.
Sleep, sleep deep and dream wonderful.
Roll and roll in joy of melody.
Roll and roll in beats of glory.