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
No comments:
Post a Comment
I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!