She has dedicated her life
to love and romance
affection always craved
and never withheld.
Living in a dreamlike
state of untruths
that to her were
as honest as the day.

In dreams she lies in green meadows
the wind curving the golden barley.
Her heart is as permanent
as the stones
her love unlimited and given freely.

She knew men that she called her lovers.
They drained their needs
and desires Into her
and she loved them.
She bore their children
and gave them all she had.
When they left her
she lost a small piece
of her heart.
Sometimes they took a big piece.

After many years
she had none left to give.
But still she gave of herself to them.
When she died she lay rested
Below the swaying branches
of the weeping willow.
And all the flowers in the meadows.
Turned to face her grave
To bask in her sweet warmth
even in death.