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Over Time



Over Time
By procida on 11/17/2008
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Over Time
Her eyes, shade of meadow grass, painted by the wind
while threads of sunlight weave around each passing cloud
through hair, like velvet blades kissed by summer breeze;
her mind quiet as a lark asleep under a willow’s breast,
still passionate as virgin snow falling at November’s feet.

Like an oak, two have touched azure sky and stormy veil,
hand in hand, their roots traveled deep over the years,
crown of gray glistening, December’s tears now clinging;
surrender they must like late autumn leaves to time,
crueler than the sun bidding a January day goodbye.

Yet threads of red and gold hem in an eternal spring,
like Joseph’s coat, their tapestry of dreams on hold;
that no grave can own, nor any sorrow penetrate,
green pastures, still waters sewn up by angels on high
reap the prize, forever buried in each others hearts.

© By procida On 11/17/2008 11:59:05 PM
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