I have not broken bread with kings
And people of the court
But those for whom the poet sings
Are not of great import

There’s quiet in the waiting for
A long-expected thing
Anticipation, almost more
Than that which is nearing
And in that quiet, energy
That drives the heart to pound
Excitement for what may yet be
What lies there to be found

Don’t fret, my love, o’er passings things
That float off with the breeze
Nor listen to the voice that sings
Of joys that it will seize

Upon my heart lay now your ear
And hear the rhythm strong
Its life is yours, and what you hear
Is love’s unending song