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.
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