Friday, February 1, 2013
were the Romantic.
I was just being Practical, Remember?
It was, in Fact, the shortest, most Direct Line
from the Bridge where we'd Meet
to that big olde Oak I Loved.
I still Recall how Handsome you looked,
Laughing back Over your Shoulder.
Even then you Called me an olde Slow Poke,
Remember how I Wept,
when my Oak came Down for the new Highway?
Then the Creek that ran Under the Bridge
I suppose it had No Reason to go on Anymore,
No Where to go.
But the Path we Made Goes on.
Remember when it was all Untouched Meadow?
We Made it a Path, you and I.
Once it was all Ours,
and that Meant Something.
1 February, 2013