I wrote this poem for my late Aunt, Mary Elizabeth Collins. Although it has been years since she passed, she is in my heart and always will be.

For Mary Elizabeth: The Book of Love

She sat beneath the oak in the pouring rain,

as the droplets burrowed in the earth.

She traced the edges of the florid plains,

till she crept into the night by her hearth.

In her dreams, she fled to remember,

a book she knew, yet long forgot.

Agile and fragile with lonely heart tempered,

She laced her thoughts, till the moment was lost.

I once read a page from the Book of Love,

Draped in the fertile rain.

It depicted, afflicted, a heart from above,

Pressed upon stars in God’s refrain.

It told the story of Passion and Folly,

Who grazed through fields upon the dawn.

As the rain clutched groves of holly,

They sauntered through isles in bliss and awe.

Lest I forget, as they wandered together,

Through arcs of light as silence fell,

Two souls in flight, tender, forever,

They etched into the groves in which they dwelt:

“May she who rest upon this tree

Not tremble in the storms

Although the torrents may frighten thee

By this hearth you are warm.”

At dawn, the girl woke in solace and bliss.

Her heart limped through the morn.

Upon her dream, she reminisced,

As Passion and Folly adjourned.