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 fertile fields
the wind curving the golden barley.
Her heart is as permanent as the stones
her love unlimited and free as the summer wind.

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 of her that she could.

When they left her
she  would lose  a small piece of her heart.
Sometimes they took a bigger piece.
After many years she had none left to give.
But still, she tried to give herself to them.

When she died she lay rested
Below the swaying branches
Of the weeping willow trees.
And all the mourning flowers
turned towards her grave.
To feel her warmth
even in death