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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required She never chose me (really) as a friend, at least that she acknowledged publicly, "Or any other!" (wench would challenge me!) Her comments, dance card, empty but for those whose supplicant's entreaties dared impose a strain perhaps on hospitality (frail's poems long on love's futility) though some who flew near flame found peace therein (her fairness, seemed reluctant to offend). Most spaces on this plain reserved for men. Her favor (for the most part) I declined but hoped, at last, she'd find some grace in rhyme, God's Love saves all of us (grant there is time!) and poetry flee loneliness and pain. Like butterflies, may poems flower gain on fragrant fields of unsuspecting hearts, their brief meanders play prodigious parts which nurture life God lavishes on Downs. What human love can ever claim a mind Where cultured pearls are runes for truant clowns. * * Neutral now, far less attached to winning, words that rhyme I find can fill my heart up. Past attempts rejoined (that did not worship), show her greater Love, met with derision ('love of god' she deems a poor decision)! Catholic, she thinks one love's the answer, Protestant, I say, "one love is cancer!" I don't seek love's slave or hope to mind her, Gossamer (the threads I see her spinning) Still, I dream God wills she finds life kinder. Brian Johnston April 7th in 2014 Poet's Notes: This poem is a revised (I think improved) version of the original published in 2014 which is still available for viewing.
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