True Love

True Love spoke in her beauty
to the harlot of a cheaper, boastful love.
Who felt superior in youthful abundance.


Your love is like the leaves on the tree
that wither and fall in Autumn,
my love is the whole tree.

Your love is like the rain
that falls from black cloud heights,
my love is the sea, from which rain was born.

Your love is like a dew dropp
sparkling on a blade of grass
at dawn of newborn day.

My love is each elfin droplet
in the rainbow, as the sun bursts
upon it, beginning
a golden summer morning.


Your love lost is like a drought
in a harsh season
winter rains restore moisture
to scorched parched land.

True love lost is ever
a broken wasteland
poor worthless soil
destitute devoid of life’s magic.

Each has its place
for not all may pay the price
each contains its strife
woven into the hectic pace of life.