by Luis G. Dato

O be to me my temple of desire
In which each day I’ll lay white jazmine roses,
My shrine of leaves whose warmth your form encloses,
To which to you my thoughts in prayer aspire.
O be the muse where camias pure respire
And where embowered your figure sweet reposes,
And there repairing as day has its closes.
Devotional strike my liturgic lyre.

An altar be of kandas, champaka sweet,
For such, dear, are my memories of you,
And I shall kneel imploring at your feet,.
Inquire through tears why I lost you to view,
For I look forward to the day we’ll meet,
This think of only since our last adieu.

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