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Poem: Finest Hour


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Finest Hour
by Mick Goodson
When falls I upon my knee 
before my own true love,
lays her hand on roughened cheek 
with touch like greeting dove. 

Replenish my tainted heart 
her words so soft in bearing, 
freshly born this ragged fool 
my daily fears now fading. 

Dare I not gaze in clear eyes 
for fear of stealing light, 
come take dream's finest hour 
remove my darkest nights. 
      Is enough for me her presence be, 
      Is enough be in her sight.
		

 
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