Because in poetry I like to dabble,

I present to you - a rhyming drabble.

A Haradric love-song it claims to be,

But what's it really? – Wait and see!

(Relax. I think my rhyming's better than that. At least, I hope it is.)

Originally written as a birthday drabble for the wonderful Aeneid.

Love, tell me of thine eyes,
And I will tell thee of thy hands,
As the moon soars in blue-black skies,
And shimmers on the sands.

Love, tell me all thy mind,
And I will tell thee of thy heart.
We live once more; war's long-behind,
Our love nothing can part.

Love, tell me of thy sleeping,
And I'll tell thee of thy dreams,
You walk in dark, quietly creeping,
And drink from enchanted streams.

Love, I'll walk with thee on sand,
By starlight, moon or Sun,
We'll sing the songs of our glorious land,
And pray future wars are won.