We are no strangers to melancholy
having drained the dregs of bitter cups
and felt sickening sloshing of sorrow
in the depths of our weary souls
yes love’s pain is the most excruciating
when laughter and touch are but memories
and yet love’s joy cannot be measured
even if memories are all that are left to us
Ethereal the touch of reverie’s fingers
yet real enough to cause the heart to sigh
and the ears to anxiously attune themselves
to whispers borne on winds of adoration
butterflies flit from sweetness to sweetness
or offer motionless magnificence cased in bell jars
wings yet splashed with summer’s palette
delicate colors, their beauty timeless, eternal
If the scent of daffodil and wild rose fades
and the sound of river’s gentle flow is silenced
then rest once more beneath the oak with me
if only in the wildflower meadows of your mind
where none can obscure or steal our secrets
where weariness and war are distant dreams
and reality a brush of lips warm against each other
Love born out of time is love just the same
let your wanderings end in my open arms
float with me then, we two grayed and gnarled
limbs of driftwood grown together from antiquity
let the river take us where it will and cast us
upon some shore someday, still entwined
living in a spell of love through daffodil nights
and sultry wild rose days that invite us to walk together
and love always by the river of our dreams