by Schiller park

I thought we'd meet

for first

and last

perhaps

who cares

as children play

'side the fish less pond

and clouds huddle past

awaiting thunder

a steamy gloom

envelopes

embraces

all

I look twixt and twain

from first to last

as swallows sweep

past my head

in mocking rapture

a gentle breeze

disturbs the pond

mirroring the flowers above

in medieval glass

I see her now

my distant love

her long exotic robe

of plum and lace

her golden hair

array

I rise 

I wave 

she smiles

but only I can see

for dead she be

these years past

since Schiller wrote

for her not me

our song of rapturous love