Beloved

My love whistles in the morning wind,
travels through islands of charm,
piercing meadows , heavenly falls,
bursts through fountains of crystal eyes,
splashing drops to cottoned skies.

My love wasn’t a lossless heart
were tall grass grows
blind ones cry, other than
reaching , the other side.

My love ,token of gold in fire then, ash.
This candescent blessing in midnight soars,
leaving traces, awaited on a dusty shore,
pirates await and feel no more.

Love cocooned under the lovely night moon,
still waiting to bloom.
Although repressed,
like an unpleasant guest
still, on guard at quest.
©Lynda Ferrer/2013