Meeting-hour

I tried to imagine you

The way you used to be

But it seems you have disappeared

Beneath Time’s tempest sea

I know that we will meet again

To lean against the gate

To watch the paling deep of dark

And dawn amalgamate

The budded bloom is primed to fill

And thrill our meeting-ground

How is it that the hours rush

And spill without a sound?

…long, long it seems we bear and bide

Time’s surging under-tow

To touch those places that we love

And lost so long ago

The no return of season-tides

And tempests test the heart

Sweet, sweeter is love’s meeting-hour

When we have been apart

© Janet Martin

When I look at the winter-locked garden I try to recall the scent of freshly-turned soil, buds barely breaking, dew at dawn...it sort of feels like a dream!