Who?

Who will love me,

Maybe you . . . . or you?

Will you find my heart

A good place to live

And will you see wonder

In butterflies and breezes?

Will you share wine

While searching the stars

As if we lost something

Along the way to us?

 

Who will love me,

And be torn away

From all familiar and worn?

To find adventure within my arms

And tilt your face to welcome a kiss?

Will you rest your head upon my shoulder

As we watch the fireplace perform

And walk with your arm knitted to mine

Through the shadows of deep forests

Where a thousand eyes keep vigilance?

 

Who will love me,

And share my days

In a nation of music and joy?

And weave a rose into their hair

Wearing sandals and a native skirt?

And who will be there

When my name is on marble

In a place of silence and peace?

And who will say, “Goodbye my love”

And give thanks for all we were?

Reviews

[David Scott]

She does.
She will.
When our names are etched in stone we will no longer care...
While we yet live, we can only ask whom we will love.

I heard the longing and the calling beyond. I felt the futility of this life. It is a truth but it does not have to be the whole truth.
A fine bit of poetic expression!

[DrD]

Thank you, David.