By Craig D. Johnson
If distance makes the heart grow fonder,
then let it keep our hearts from wander.
Make me strong and build thyself,
fix thy faults and lift mine health.
Thy actions strange and not of old,
for what is meant may be foretold.
Look deeper to the fold of reason,
betwixt the mode that makes our treason.
Help me see what hurt I bear to thee,
for love and life with you I see.
Within thyself, an instrument of gold,
most dear to me, myself, you hold.
'Tis what you seek, and I of you.
Make this your heart and key to true
love and freedom from our woes of fear.
For you, my love, I hold most dear.