If that drop doesn’t fall
Before ten’s count,
In cheer, I’ll know it all
Her love’s account.
So, off I start to reckon.
I watch it slide on a “5”.
Though I rush through the “7”
It fell ‘fore “9” did arrive.
“Was it a slow counting
Or was it destiny’s sly,
With a leaf left panting
And a tear in my eye?”
Alas! I think t’was my sloth.
I shall count a dew again.
An omen stirred in love’s broth
Is His Nod to a man’s yen.
Like A Feather... 
Pretty.“An omen stirred in love’s brothIs His Nod to a man’s yen.”A touch of Shakespeare in the poem’s style.
Beautiful…:)
<>Was it a slow countingOr was it destiny’s sly,With a leaf left pantingAnd a tear in my eye?”<>Lovely lines..Keep going..
Dear P, Glad you like it, but why make S turn in his grave!? 😉Dear X, MerciDear P, Glad you like it. I intend to keep going. Let’s see what time has in store… 🙂