To Bella Poem by Dale Barnes

Bella


Mon véritable ami... mots ne sont pas raconter l'histoire de l'endroit où nous avons voyagé ensemble. De même, ils expriment les sentiments d'émerveillement, nous avons trouvé... et continuera à trouver le long de la route de la vie. Paix et amour éternel.



Bella


The Willow, As the Tree.



It’s Bows… Her Hammock:


It’s Green... Her Gold.



Not Weeping…but Sane.



It Calls Her Name.



It Calls Her in Ways Untold…




Bella…Bella…



BELLA.




In Fields of Hyacinth’s I hear Her Calling…”Mon Ami”


In Sodden Fields…



I Stitch and Sew her Angst.



Reason...Yes: Devotion: So…



Sew the Fields before the Snow.





Some Say Form Follows Function…



I Agree. But Sometime’s it’s Just You…And Me.



The World is Vanilla…The Scent of…


What Could Be…And,



What May Flowers, May…Ever Be.




I Cut the Flowers, The right way.



I Hold them in Earnest.



The Odor of Fresh Cut Alfalfa in the Field…


She Cuts the Asparagus with A Blue Blade.


The Perfume of What Will always Be.



We Mowed the Field…We sewed the Seed.


It Showed our Need. We Both Bled.



Yes…we needed…but, We also Sang…


The Humble Songs…Songs In Silence…Songs Of Silence.




In the Hammock of the Non Weeping Willow we Dance.



Such is Life…Catch as Catch Can.



As Untold as A Freshly Made Bed…Linen... Longing.



We Traverse this Life of Need and Wanting.


Au revoir mon Amour


© DRB 2009