The Park

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I feel the voice I love to hear, it soothes

As does the falling snow which coats the swings

Where in warmer weather we would fly and carefree be

As children let to rove a captive world

Which answers ever only to their whim

The sweet sounds you say breathe blanket warm

So close and near and brings a joy I need

Recounting tales of mundane nonsense things

Her voice by many method murmurs "I adore"

Responds to invitations to the shore

Makes reservations happen nevermore

Hand holds hand on grass like lyric syllabi

Want of words, and still expressed within the eyes

Yet ice-shod swings sit silent in the park

Occupied by adults' shadows in the dark.

The Park - The Courage of Intimacy by Keith Ainsworth                                                                                                                                                                          14