You were always there
being faithful,
when I could not trust;
being strong
when I was afraid to be weak.
You were the Oak
when my weeping willow heart
could not bear to put down roots.
You were always there loving me
in spite of myself.
Holding me
with all my prickles;
accepting me
when I could only pretend to give.
When anger I could not acknowledge
pushed you away,
you only went far enough
to give me space.
Not knowing the source of my pain,
I lashed out at life.
Not knowing the source of my pain,
you bore it with me.
How far we have come, my love;
finding friendship in the autumn,
finding love in the twilight.
Let the poets sing of young love
and the fires of youth.
We will write our sonnets on yellowed pages
and find them sweeter than springtime!
Donna Swanson c.2009
