her heaven interrupted
she waits there by the wooden door
burned into its crispy surface is a poem aimed at her heart
a poem in the form of a image
a graceful piece illustrated to the minds eye
a flowing of words and thought that only
a great painter could put to canvas
it was of a love she knew many years ago
it was a autumn affair
dry leaves had scattered under her soft shoe walk
and the boy had taken her hand and then
had taken her
only to fade into memory by the first frost
the wind chimes in the semi-darkness remind her of that day
sounding clearly like a soft summer song
to her young and vibrant heart
sounding like trumpets hailing the coming
of some grand and great prince
head held high
with the purest of intents
yes those chimes sound so alive to her
brings back so many memories
of her young and willing heart
these many years later
she has only the barest scrap of paper
with his name still legible
faded but bold
bold like he was
like he was
now the years have told their tale
and her eyes loose focus
as her dreams once more turn to those heady days
of her young heart
as she slips into a final slumber
she dreams of him
and the poem song of her love for him