If love was just a butterfly upon a summers day ,
dancing above daffodils then flying far away .
For if love could be a stolen locket ,
taken from a tower ,
with a picture of her lover ,
dancing before a flower ?
But if love is none of these ,
and does not waver ,
and does not flint ,
but shows its many colours in O so many ways ,
in roses and violets and O so many other dainty things
we could love all our days ?
Then let it be like the morning ,
that hope we have each day ,
as rays of light come calling
to brighten up our day.

Because that is what my sister is ,
always thoughtful and serene ,
a lady of many colours ,
a spectrum of crystal beams.
looking out into the sunlight ,
as every morning unfolds.

An all encapsulating flower ,
before it’s petals fall ,
the spraying of salt water ,
against a harbour wall .

A light house to a bird ,
beaten back by the winds entrepid gales ,
but above all a safe harbour when all else begins to fail .