Close We Were Meant To Be Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Gods sat in bamboo chairs and made
strange gestures, man is so afraid
he lacks esteem, his mind is odd
he longs yet cannot be a god.
Man looks to the horizon's ridge
but overlooks nearby, the bridge.
He frets, so hands cease beckoning
and chooses thus a reckoning,
he whispers to his inner ear
denies the coward's heavy fear
protect and serve, he says aloud
his breath gives life to a dark cloud
and as he seeks the cooling shade
ye gods pour down their lemonade.
Small drops descend and kiss the cave
no warrior could betray the brave,
he sees the beauty of creation
but hurries to the subway station.
What was ordained will never be
and she, the wife, stands like a tree
she is not his, and soon is found
a statue, frozen to the ground.
And while her senses seek their trance
the southern breezes come to dance,
come drink ye bees and butterflies
wipe salty tears from hopeful eyes,
and pigeons living near the Lake
take one small word for love's own sake.
Like angel dust love graced my skin,
united we will be in sin.


For my drippy little swimmer girl.