My Wife Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

My Wife

Her name is of a velvet carol, and although her billows reign above
The ocean that commands all suitors, she choses only one for love.
She is eloquent and knows her verses will outlive her bygone tears;
In a sunlit carriage she calmly rides throughout the crimson colored years,
To the melody of lullabies in woods where the scent of belvederes
Reminds her of Byron, Shelley, his Lady Fair, Wordsworth - and me.
For once she let her hair down, in its long and raven sublimity,
And touched me with those sacred lips, of hyacinths, of the sacred rose.
She awaits for me in paradise, as patient as a statue's pose.
And as the moonlight falls into the starry, diamond fountain,
Where I wander in a daze, in the square beneath the mountain,
I behold her in a wondrous haze, when all is still in a gilded bliss,
Where the shadows of oleanders mystically sway,
Where all of heaven's angels intercede for us and pray;
My love and I shall walk - forever in a kiss.

John Lars Zwerenz