Poetry

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At lanes end
The rustic stile
Stands sentinel still
Marking that special place
Where the fates conspired
Our souls should meet
Though we purposely
Trod opposing paths
We met at that rustic spot
And to help you cross
I took your hand
Small and silken soft
Guiding you safe to my side
And despite the presence
Of each others companions
We were to all intents
Quite alone
And in those moments
When hand touched hand
We at once beheld
Our lives from that point on
Would be forever altered
And were content
With that destiny

At lanes end
The rustic stile
Stands like a monument
Marking the place of alteration
A significant place
A spiritual place oft revisited
And on such sojourns
We would find renewal
As the energizing memory
Of that special moment
Assailed our senses
Essentially invigorating
Like imbibing the waters
From the fountain of youth
And our hearts would once again
Resound with joyousness
And sweet moments of romance
Those excited tingles
Of loves first passion
When hearts beat faster
And desire courses
Through every fibre
The thrill of blossoming love
Adding to the strata
Of our love laid down
Through all our years
By returning to the place
Of loves wondrous inception
We keep our love alive
And in equal measure
Love returns the favour

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