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Romantic Reverence

I’m never quite sure just who’s
22145130_web1_200723-NTS-ReflectionsPoem-GardenMetroPic_1
(Metro Creative photo)

I’m never quite sure just who’s

romancing who. It is no secret I

am enamored with the lady I

call Missy. Others call her

Mother Nature. She has a way of

romancing me as I visit botanical

gardens, swing on a garden gate.

I’ve witnessed willows weeping

sorrowfully after her in the wind.

I, too, weep for the love of her;

I’m in awe of what she shares…

scents waft downstream through

eddies; I listen for her love song in

the piercing lyrics of a loon, owls,

who stare at the full moon, like me

know her well; for, she’s present

when you listen and look.

Jumping to my feet to kick leaves

in the woodland, crackling dead

limbs thunder under my step. I

can hear the mother of earth.

She speaks through noisy under-

brush blanketing the silent woods.

“You’re a valuable treasure,” I

tell her with a sigh. She responds.

Enthralled, by Missy’s parchment

love letter, silhouetted against the

balsam-tone sky like calligraphy,

I give in when she peers through

a lacy tree top and invites me

to dance with her.

The many forms of m’lady take

my breath away; she comes to me

in a wave of romance; I go to her

in a wave of reverence.

By Rita Joan Dozlaw