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I am a great admirer of English poetry from the time of Chaucer up until the middle of the twentieth century when it appeared to lose its way. I love all aspects of this planet but are sometimes sad when I think of what we are doing to it.

Monday 25 March 2019

The Lovers' Calendar

I kissed her lips on that frost-rimmed day
when the lake lay still in an ice bound sleep.
Cold were her lips but promising fire
as the snowdrop brings hope of bright roses.

I kissed her lips on that sun-swept day
while young clouds moved slow on paths of blue.
How soft were those lips and warmed by love
as her face met mine in a butterfly touch.

I kissed her lips on that autumn day
as dead leaves swept by in a dance of red.
How sweet those lips in the chastening wind,
stilling false fears in the day’s drear dusk.

I kissed her lips in that storm’s grim heart
while ragged clouds closed the sun’s pale eye.
A swift year has passed into remembrance.

But each stored kiss shall hasten the spring.

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