when the weather grew cold
she came to me
trailing freshly
fallen leaves
crisp from morning frost
with hot tea and
warm bread
the sunlight golden on her
wind-blown head
her eyes all bright with
new welcome and
desire
I clung to her like moss
on a stone
inseparably grown with
ages of time
“you’ll always be mine”
she whispered
and the trees bowed
in solemn witness
to her words
and my heart bent
with those ancient woods
toward her
Sky in Your Eyes 