A few days went by, a coupe of sunsets
mostly the rains, he’d been used to their
discretion, every day a new pattern
would remind him again how far apart …
Together time measured only a faint
recall when her lips would touch his own.
A cool winter night, warmth, each other
near to knowing this celebration of love.
In the quiet of an early night sky, Chopin
wrote is masterwork, while we might wander
our own mind wanting answers long before even
a legitimate question might lay to reset his wish.
He did now wish only her response that she would hear
his cry in the solemn night where he did now wander alone.
~ finding my way l a personal journey ~
apersonaljourney - stories of love 