Climbing
An uphill struggle to
see my love,
and she welcomes me with arms wide,
happiness the reward for hours wasted,
as I'm settled softly against her side.
Barriers and fences
thrown by kith and kin,
each a weary climb eyes closed to the fall,
worth every breath spent in pain,
every hole broken through every wall.
To lie in lovers sweet
presence,
coddled heart and spent body the truth bespoke,
yet some ramparts remain unassailable to me,
the tiers that surround my love's folk.
Will my love meet me
in some quilted lea,
where every flower is friend every leaf a bridge,
or will she wait for god's forgiving,
leaving me climbing a forever ridge.
Feb 2001 Mark Broomhall