If all the world was mine, to have and hold,
I’d sing you songs of innocent desire;
We’d live a life of cinnamon and gold,
And form a sort of gentle ball of fire
To warm you in the coldest shadowed night,
To soothe you in the weariest of days;
For love’s a long campaign, but not a fight –
A what-can-never-be
That’s been
Always
