In What He Imagine Love
When in a rainfall, we wait to watch the droplets hang,
a lush forest, where a glistening fire of Her magic,
awaits our eyes, doesn’t beg, just does remain,
… and we continue to move about our day this way.
It would seem there might be a need to recognize,
She is a gift to be cherished in her every wise
manner of Grace in lighting up our lives,
to know certainty is the absolute of her mystique.
When love might be recalled, described, wondered,
there is this natural sense to look to the forest,
whereby the answers will always await the traveler,
the one who ceases step to pause, whisper the magic.
Deep inside the wood, glance into the depths, the sound
a Throstel make would carry a man’s heart further beyond
the tangible nature of life’s preoccupation only to wish
upon her soul, she is a seer, sweet mystical aura, is Love.