i like the smells of morning: the preparation, the anticipation, the hope.

The flowers you gave me are rotting and still I refuse to throw them away.
Some of the bulbs never opened quite fully
They might so I'm waiting and staying awake.
Things I have loved I'm allowed to keep
I'll never know if I go to sleep.

make no protest as you go.

Thus might I hide my blushing face while His dear cross appears,

Dissolve my heart in thankfulness, And melt mine eyes to tears.