I embrace joy, timid and unsure it’s intentions,

Everwary of behind back crossed fingers.
You’re a beast of a bricklayer when fortress required,
And I’m a monkey with a pen when my hands are inspired;
Half a sacred heart, fully on fire.
And,
I wait in this country of gardens, 
A festival of blooming on the horizon,
As a lighthouse for the shadeburdened,
Knowing that cruel springtime yet yields to serpentine summer,
And overripe strawberry handprints will yet grace my form.
I will embrace joy, as an old friend with nothing to hide.