Us

Not as the hope of gardens
Frozen in winter’s sod
Or tempests bowing the hemlock low
In cold forced worship to God

Not as the physical hunger
Growling its urgent plea
Nor as the hunger of nature’s wrath
Sweeping across the sea

Not as the rising and falling
Of dawn to midnight’s chime
Guiding the quadrille of seasons on
Over the landscape of Time

Love is no summer in waiting
…a hunger of constant torment
Though its storm may surge through our beings
In passion never fully spent

Love is a pure, purposed constant
Eluding the will of my pen
Complex in its unrivaled fullness
Evading mere script of men

In the rising and falling of moments
Or the seasons that vex earth’s cusp
Oh my darling, it is bliss to know
That love will always be…us

Janet~