Whispers

Cool lit light skims the deep murky water
Tension builds as the sand swept hair brushes across thy face
Endless skies met with endless waves

Tis now marked with mellonin,
a honey hue trails down thy countless eye
As the color of anxiousness paints the sky

Doth thou mark me a fool?
Know not I, the follies of the ignorant?
Waiting in good turn does turn good fortune upon thy master
And favorable light does bless the patient

Therefore I shall wait, until the time of nie draws near
Cast out too far to stretch past ones reach
Tis's a fool sojourn, in such a place

Nay, I shall wait until the time is ripe
To pluck thy bonny from thine dream