The pot-holed, tarmac road
disappeared like a snake
reluctant to spit its
precious venom of death
I looked ahead to the small
hills beyond the lake
and saw they were a woman,
and her morning breath
was in the lush valley
of my stubborn dream,
and I realised our love
had lasted many years
we were often scared it
might vanish like steam
- a ghost train puffing
up the incline of tears.
There was never a card
on that February day;
you kept passion secret
like a country unknown
and always I walked
the invisible way
beyond manicured trees
and pathways of stone;
there was something
startling around the bend,
a happy surprise past
the blackthorn bush
the road just went on
- there wasn’t an end
to the bliss still thriving
in a timeless hush.
