Upon barren and fertile
places our love grows
in spring like woe.

Around the meadow and
the physalis, our garden
grows, like the weeds
and wildflowers our hearts
know, roots like to
grow where the waters flow.

Upon the setting sun
the flowers shun its
fading beams as they
wave goodnight to
the last bit of light.
Our petals close,
the shadows lengthen
bringing the day to
an end.

Fair well my shimmering
friend until the marrow
and we meat again
upon your sun soaked smile.

© 2019 By Amanda Shelton