Saturday, February 8, 2014

Love Poem

Love doesn’t just happen
Nor is it reserved for those
Perfect moon-light nights and virgins dressed in white

It does not use and then dispose of
As if flesh and blood were nothing more
Than a paper tissue with a pulse

I have wept its fullest beauty
Crawled its grandest miles
Laughed its sun-sparkles…in the rain

...Only to find its compensation
Is never finished
And always only begun

© Janet Martin

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