Monday, 10 June 2013
I rarely write you poems now
Unlike our first mad days
When verses tumbled from my pen.
Our love was wild and foolish then
And rhymes appeared, I don’t know how,
While both of us went in a daze.
But like a landscape carved by time
Our love has softened now
Into a place in which to live,
Not jagged crags and clefts to give
A view apparently sublime,
Impossible for seed or plough.
Now like two staunch adventurers
We can explore our land
Which none but us has ventured to
Since we together journeyed through
The tails whose deviousness deters
The rest, who cannot understand
Our journey here was clear and straight.
Thus thoughts of you provoke
Idyllic images which yet
Are not mere dreams, for we are set,
Plodding our steady happy rate,
Under on equal easy yoke.