an original poem about a wren

I wanted a poem about a wren -
there she is, la petite guinivere,
in the soft light of the old chapel,
hiding in the ivy - her little song,
small featherlets - or through the broken panes
where the old gardener had grown tender
greens, winter sallets and softfruit for the house -
under the darkling yew we shelter'd once,
your gentle hair rested upon my breast,
and at eve, moonlit, grassy hills we'd climb -
ghosts a'dance on the lawn, silently stepping
quadrilles obselete, unmeasured & unseen.

It is a kind of heaven, your secret
mossy place: you let me gaze in wonder.

Thank you for reading @richardjuckes