A Song For May

Within hills and hollers. Green outskirts of the Metro. Forest patched by fields, Where creeks cut. I stumbled on a quite maiden With Irish fire hair, Indian eyes High in tower of commitment Stone warn from weight I hermit traveler, Gestured to coffee I beheld her eclipse And fell in sleep from her poetry Woke to loves vigor, I a aspiring hero. Was in warm victory, But for a short-time. The tower shadow gently returned, Fading her bright eyes, Compelling her to walk To tower stairs, her rain washed me away. I beacon-ed threats of wanting, Echoing off rock’s oblivious. but sweetly. So in little control I bowed in friendly respect Set home at the tower base, Until steps herd, Forlorn but proud of position As I friendly wave up, proud of my post Love sometimes is just. Knowing what’s honorable.