Out of time that's long forgotten,
in a light that's yet unknown,
you could see me in the morning,
I would be there, but alone,
weaving tapestries from fibers
of someone who'd never guess,
she is part of dreams and vision,
and somebody's happiness.
But she would know someone was there.
I'd touch her now if I would dare.
And she would know I'm always there.
There's a story and it's Celtic,
"We must love all things, to see
how a raindrop loves the flower,
but the flower loves a bee."
In the tapestry I'm weaving,
I have told this story well,
and the dream she is a part of,
is the other tale I tell.
She knows someone has touched her mind.
I'm always there for her to find.
And she is always on my mind.
It's a love beyond a question,
but a love that's out of place,
out of time and out of reason,
but unable to erase.
In the tapestry I'm weaving ,
there's no differences to see,
she is rising from the ocean
to a love God's meant to be.
...And she has known a love that's good.
.....Though it is never understood.
........But she'll remember love is good.
© ron wilson