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.
Nice writing.
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