Child of the Earth, a Poem
He fell in love with her as a child of the earth
might entwine its lithe arms around
the tendril roots of an ancient fir
deep in the loam, soft in the moisture
he fell in love with her as a protector
of honesty he could only sense but
never understand--I never use umbrellas,
she declared, tossing her flying hair
in the bright sun--I wouldn't do that to the rain
he fell in love with her as the softness
of her inner arms enfolded his
racing heart and opened his expectations
to arcane possibilities
and as the bright day smiled on them both
his moment was done and she left him,
perhaps for an eternal flash, and was gone
to her proper home among the wildflowers
on the distant purple hills.
© clark cook