Stories.

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.