Kisses of February fires ~ slate-hued skyscrapers in mid-day with snow-capped spires, Central Park horse carriage ride in lacy light falling snowflakes ~ chocolate truffles, cascades of deep red roses, candles glow, collections over fleeting time of endearing Valentine cards penned by you, then a sudden ~ yet long loss, tears in quietude, how could it be true. You, jovial one of hope, cremated on Day Of Hearts into your afterlife, winter ashes of my cherish, yet, still I am your wife, two years passed, oh winter, violet crocuses rise from your cold, shimmering diamonds of ice on the lawn, re

honeyed journey awakened dreams.....a cherishing a grand greeness love the pairing of our melding young verve.....our maiden marriage years long past

dreaming daughter ascends starlit harbor.....to her father's biding love

Bereavement is of an ebony beauty, blush rose lips beneath her black lace veil, embracing us in hush, present through the ages, gently mourning in our tears.

Beneath a veil bordered with black roses, such a pallid, yet beauteous face, she's adept at knowing when to let herself in, she sits, sighs of sorrow, ebony shadowed dreams- bereavement, stars weaved in her long tresses, scattering tears, cruelly tightening cords of thorns around my fragmentary, out of rhythm, barely beating heart song.

Thorns- tighten, encircle, posess, pierce, bereft hearts low, languid, thoughts fall as if a misery of chilly rain, we didn't know you would- become a sudden traveler of the universe.

Clover and moss adornment,
fields of ancient emerald mellow,
with spring lambs innocent,
elderly farmer with a tea stained smile.

Yet, North of there,
her people warring,
life spills on concrete,
in the singing wind
is the song of the Troubles.

My maiden, my Eire,
are you ever at rest?
Where are your children?
Sons and daughters,
youth no more to come home,
Scars on a beauty,
she, she, will it go on into eternity?

My beauty, the souls, and shamrocks
in the dew,
weep just as much as you.

Like generations that have fallen before, you fell on distant shores from the guns of war, My earthly soul pauses everyday, and I come this way to honor always the gallant in repose, Clutched in my hand are black roses, black roses for the youth, the eternal youth. On this spring morn, your young widow walks beneath the maple trees dressed in emerald crowns, her long chestnut brown hair partly covers her delicate downcast face, she breathes deeply, then prays, Suddenly, thunder, as if a dirge from the North, God's paean to you, Sorrow pierces my American bearing, I'll never cease answering th