I'd like to share one of the most beautiful love poems I've ever read. It was written by Jo Anzalone for her friend, inspirational writer Marjorie Holmes, when Mrs. Holmes' husband died.
His love was sunlight on the uplifted daffodil of her being,
Turning all her yellows into gold.
It swirled, cape-like, before her
atop the puddles of her life.
As cashmere, draping on her shoulders,
his love was warm ... and soft.
He brought her flowers, not just petaled blossoms,
High mountain meadows of them in his song,
Secret gardens as his fingers touched her hand.
He loved her fiercely, privately,
in his lion-hearted way.
Yet loved her freely, openly, wanting
all to know THIS woman was his love.
The rivers of his words brought peace.
The fountains of his song gave joy.
His very "oakness" sheltered all her life,
as hand-in-hand they climbed the mountain paths together.
And even when the oak of him was felled,
Roots torn from the yielding earth ...
An empty place on her life's horizon,
where once were stoutest branches lifted to the sky.
And all her soul became a single teardrop
Her fountains stilled,
Her rivers running dry,
Her shoulders cold,
Her puddles wide,
Her meadows deep in snow;
But God, smiling on their love in life,
For what had been the ageless question:
IF God choose ...?"
And on a silent, lonely evening ...
with all that lay within her ...