Your Innocent Touch

I once did find a grain of sand,

Amidst the month of May.

I took it as you took my hand,

Of meek and molded clay.

I once beheld a wildflower,

Tucked it by my ear.

Two months until our final hour

Frames a finite dear.

'Tis but a myth that human touch

Can taint a timid fawn;

I must maintain my faith in such,

For soon, I’ll find you gone.