I know not where I shall find love
By the foots of the mountain or on the plains of clove
Where the oak trees shed their green blades on the brown grass
Perchance by the deserted road where lays the heap of trash

I know not when I shall find love
During spring when April showers bring may flowers
When wintry chilling cold bites the white earth
When the woods glow of amber in the hearth

I know not how I will find love
Through divine appointment or by strove
Whether from a recent friend or a foe of past days
May be from stranger met by labyrithine ways

I know not why I will find love
Whether possessed passions will cause me to move
To seek the friendship of some lovely lass
May be just another ritual of life to pass

Whether in known or unknown places
Whether in familiar or strange faces
Whether time is constant or flies like a dove
I one day shall find love

When I was two years old
The sun was just ball of fire that in the sky rolled
The full moon was a round stone in the dark sky
I knew mum and dad would never say bye
The kindergarten teacher taught kids were bought
Many of our favorite heroes were mostly cops
Every guy behind bars was a dangerous criminal
And what the minister stood for was biblical
All who went to church had no stain
Friends would never cause us pain
We enjoyed playing with dirt
Many times fell from tree and were hurt
We knew our leaders would bring peace
And our childhood fancies would never cease

Today with radiance I turned twenty and two
Our nearest star was full of radiance too
The spring night was lit with moon rays
Mom and dad could not agree so they parted ways
My friend had a baby girl with his bride
And our cops executed law according to tribe
The civil right activist was wrongfully convicted
The ministers no longer care for those afflicted
My pagan neighbor and parishioners are all the same
And for my latest pains my friends are mostly to blame
The doctor said dirt was the cause of my diseases
And I had to avoid it to reduce my medical fees
Our politicians masterminded our newest wars
And adulthood came early with too many chores

And the heaviness
of my soul
lies with yours
in communion
in the darkest
passages of
the still crystal black
nighttime prayers
thrown out
             to the wind
as I reach out in
the most tender
              of frequencies
tendrils of purest love
to envelope you
what might
be unraveling
but hopefully not
and know
that I need you
like stones need
                  solid ground
like this pillar of strength
              needs her lifeline
not to be rescued
just to be loved
and seen with
the precious
luster
of your
very
      eyes

Before he retired –
aged sixty-two –
life was a meaningful
calling for her.

Not over-radical,
more gentle and
secular – but post-
suffrage.

Her children had
left the nest, and
the story of Esther
came to mind.

She writes poetry
and helps others
less fortunate than
she is.

He puts food on the
table, and she gives
meaning to the
marital vows.

She never wanted
to emulate Steinem
or Millett – maybe
Eleanor Roosevelt.

She neither wears
a bra nor burns one
– competition only a
four-syllable word.

A day in her life is
one hand on the soup
kettle, the other on
a protest sign.

One week a month
she volunteers
at a church shelter
for the homeless.

One day a week
she picks up the
mail for a neighbor
who is bed-ridden.

When night time
comes and she lies
in bed, he massages
her feet in silence.

She hasn’t retired –
never will – not in the
shadows of the night
nor morning’s shine.

© Lewis Bosworth, 9/16

Autumn's amber hued
Sunday afternoons
are laced with regret
for days gone to soon.

Yellowed pages
folded and faded,
are the leaves underfoot,
sweet and decaying.

Now the fall moon
will be waning blue,
and so goes this life,
a memory too.