The little things of life
Matter most

A kiss, a hug
From someone close

Even a thought
Goes a long way

Just a simple smile
Can make someone's day

Cherish the people
And things you hold dear

Do this and happiness
Will always be near

At last I was free
From under her spell
I said to myself
Climbing out of the well

But a strange feeling
Came into my head
As I mulled over the words
That I had just said

I wanted to go back
With or without the curse
Whether it was stockholm syndrome
Or something far worse

So I climbed back down
To the young witch's lair
Who despite her occupation
Was beautiful and fair

I explained my position
As she listened with surprise
Or so I thought
As I looked in her eyes

After hearing my request
To stay by her side
She seemed to break down
And nearly cried

She said she was no witch
Just a practicer of magic
But her skills were lacking
And her results quite tragic

I felt for her I did
But she was young and sly
And I could not tell
If it was the truth or a lie

In the end however
I did not really care
She was my beautiful witch
And I'd follow her anywhere

She did not cry.
perhaps that was the odd thing.
I saw the two soldiers at her front door.
one with a chaplains uniform.
Her son was on active duty
in the Marines.
I knew at once
what the bad news would be.

I remember It was late springtime
and all through the days that year
I could see her
working non stop in her garden.
Trimming,transplanting, weeding.
until the evening light dimmed
Into darkness.

I have never seen such
An abundance of beauty.
Flowers and shrubs a color scape
a complete mass of bloom.
The snipping of her pruning shears
never ceasing
like a cicada in August.

Lantern shaped blossoms
cascaded down in multitudes
from the flowering trees.
Like the tears
she could not cry.

Winter's icy fingers
freeze my world.
The door to spring
now in a time lock
like a bank vault

Sitting alone
by my window
warm breath melting
a portal to the street
in the crystalline
patterns of ice .

Outside cars are like extinct
dinosaurs abandoned
in the street.
Covered in pure white.
How elegantly the snow
delivers its silent discipline

Now the wind
wails like a grieving lover
causing the ice covered berries
to gently ******
like glass wind chimes

In the mist of falling snow
Ghostly skeletons of the trees,
leafless grey and frozen
patiently await the springtime.

Far into a distant time to come
apple blossoms glow in radiance
and a church bell chimes.

Bellowing trumpets call the palace to order and servants,
Dressed from head to toe in exquisite lace,
Promptly wave their lush palmetto leaves while the Pharaoh
Ambles domineeringly down the marble corridor.

Though the floor rattles at the cries of enemy soldiers
Penetrating the once impregnable palace walls,
The mighty Cleopatra, exuberant in both beauty and intelligence,
Maintains a powerful, dignified forbearance.

Immune to cowardly apprehension petrifying those surrounding her,
The Pharaoh relies on only her brooding heart to guide her.
Though her once opulent eyes scorch in melancholy,
They look onward toward the cynosure of her existence.

Clad in dense armor, Mark Antony clasps his sword resiliently,
Pacing nervously back and forth throughout his room
At the thought of the danger soon to overtake him.
His breath hangs heavy on the seaside air.

Antony’s complexion brightens at the sight of alluring lover,
And he releases his guard, opening his arms as she approaches.
Shouting erupts from the neighboring corridor
Though neither he nor Cleopatra discern the enveloping chaos.

As Roman soldiers zealously round the corner and overtake the lovers,
Waving their weapons high in hopes of slaughter,
The couple’s lips merge together as one,
Producing an everlasting bond that no sword could sever.