As she surrenders
To the aroma
of sweet love,
Treasured, she feels.
For the wild Flowers,
Make her complete.
Let`s sip this nectar
Little by little,
And add new tales,
To the story that`s dying to begin.
She says.
The Swing,
Amidst the fall garden,
Has promises to keep.
For the highs are as precious
As the wondrous lows.
She sees stories around,
All so intricate and sweet,
Rich with heart felt tides
of Time and Being.
And then there are stories,
That never begin.
