At times, her eyes do not catch the sunlight dappling ‘gainst
The gently sloping meadow, the woodland’s frosted trees,
And he must, into deeper recess look, into her seasoned spirit
Where the sea spray challenges the soft-spoken shore,
And wind sound caresses her being and keeps her passion strong.
And there are times when he is quite alone, but listens
With ears and mind in fervent posture, to her voice
Arising from a hidden well, unhindered by time and place.
But most of all, when she is not with him, he dreams,
And waits, somnambulant and eager, for another sun to rise.
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