Dream Weaver


Her Mother's Daughter - Poem by Dream Weaver

Beautiful... desirable;
in the sweet green grass... serene, she lay
in the wild flower meadow... with a soft smile... and lash-lowered eyes.
A gentle zephyr stirred the dappled shade beneath the old Oak tree
as languorously, she wove a Daisy chain beneath the summer skies.

She whispered;
'If you carve our names in that old tree... here is a token
of our love... this pretty garland of these blooms that I've been tending;
but, please don't carve them in a heart... for hearts can easily be broken;
carve them within a circle for me... a circle strong, and never-ending.'

He gave a little, gentle smile;
kissed her, and moved towards the tree,
pocket knife in hand, he carefully chose where, her desire, to place...
she lay amidst the meadow flowers, watching... smiling dreamily
as he cut into the bark... a perfect circle there, to trace.

Therein, he carved the twin initials
strong and deep, for all to see.
A monument to love on that soft summer day with skies so blue;
but, as he made the last cut... his blade slipped... quite accidentally,
and nicked his finger, where a bright red dropp of blood welled forth, and grew.

She whispered;
'Let me kiss it better...' and raised his finger to her lips;
the crimson droplet on her tongue-tip held a sensual, salty taste.
She pressed her body into him; gently nudging with her hips...
the future might hold anything... such time they had, was not for waste.

His forty-eight hour leave was almost spent...
this was their last, sweet day
together, for who knows how long? Tomorrow he returned to base;
to ride the Bombers' Moon night skies... to chance luck over Germany;
his wager with The Reaper, but no clue to tell of time or place.

Beautiful...desirable;
in the sweet green grass... serene, she lay
in the wild flower meadow... with a soft smile... and lash-lowered eyes.
She pressed his hands upon her breasts; and not a word then, did she say
as gently, they made slow, sweet love beneath the clear blue summer skies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beautiful... just like her mother;
she stood beneath the old Oak tree
and traced the initials in the circle carved so many years ago.
She never knew her father... lost on Op's out over Germany...
he never had the chance to hold his daughter, or to watch her grow.

He never had the chance
to stand again, beneath the old Oak tree
in the wild flower meadow with her mother, on a summer's day;
the meadow where her life began, amidst the Daisies... endlessly
blooming 'neath a summer sky, so long ago... so far away.

Beautiful... just like her mother;
she stood beneath the old Oak tree
and from her purse, she took her father's pocket knife... the very same
one he used, to carve.......
A hand upon her shoulder, laid, gently...
she smiled into her lover's eyes... 'It's still here... I'm so glad we came.'

'Shall we do the same?
I know they'd like us to, if they can see
us down here; it's really something that I'd rather like to do.'
And so, he smiled, and took the pocket knife... and started, carefully
to carve both their initials there beneath the circle... sharp and true.

Beautiful... desirable;
in the sweet green grass... serene, she lay
in the wild flower meadow... with a soft smile... and lash-lowered eyes.
A gentle zephyr stirred the dappled shade beneath the old Oak tree
as languorously, she wove a Daisy chain beneath the summer skies.

She whispered;
'As you carve our names in that old tree... here is my token
of our love... this pretty garland of these blooms that I've been tending;
but, please don't carve them in a heart... for hearts can easily be broken;
carve them within a circle for me... a circle strong, and never-ending.'


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Maya Angelou

Phenomenal Woman



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Poem Submitted: Monday, October 13, 2008



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