I don't want to be with you
in your pristine early morning
smelling of dawn, glimmering with hope
like dew drops on a new dandelion.
I don't want to walk with you
in your august afternoon
glaring with purport, striding with mettle,
hiking stalwartly up your mountains.
I don't want to partake with you
in your long-shadowed golden dusk
beaming with peace, lambent with grace,
grateful for the very air you breathe.
I don't want to run with you
in your deep Cimmerian evening
flying as the wind, rushing with ardor,
exultant in your continuation.
I don't want to stay with you
in your immortal night
harkening rectitude, beholding totality,
symphonizing with fidelity.
I don't want to be warmed in the shine of your spirit
only to have to give you up to God.