Soft as the cobwebs that dance the vine.
Moist as the droplets that dew the rose.
Warm as the first taste of ruby red wine
Is love, which once planted sturdily grows.
Harsh as the wind in the willow's branch.
Cold as the mountain lake's icy flow.
Hard as the drought that dehydrates romance
Is wilted love, growing where the gales blow.
Winnow the wind, divide chaff from grain.
Discover pure gold, come love me again.
Fay.. this is classic fay. quite amazing.
What beautifully written contrasting verses, Fay, and those wonderful final two lines were the icing on the cake! This is a gorgeous poem, and if you keep writing them like this, gentlemen, and perhaps some not gentlemanly, will be asking you for your address! Carl.
You've filled this up with so much rare magic. Quite a feat..(smile)
Fay, a lovely poem of love. Top marks and thanks for sharing this my friend. Hugs David
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fay, loved the title. The poem flowed like a sprinting stream. Beautiful piece of writing.10/10 Regards, Ian