This is an older piece – recently re-worked. I still like it, and found it worth posting.
Love Holds Dear
Curled in a fever,
Wrapped in a blanket made of stone;
Made to look like art,
Made to look organic.
Nature coils an invitation.
Autumn has it’s own way
of defining the moment;
In leaves, in grass,
In mornings that could never disgrace,
I hold the memory like a well worn scarf;
Inhale the familiar scents.
Wonder at how I could keep
Something so old,
so tattered, around for so long.
I keep the stone the same way,
But the pond is it’s reminder of family.
and love holds dear the pebbles.