For You There Is No More Enduring Passion
For you there is no more enduring passion
Or salient presence in your inner rooms,
Realizing the hopes of brides and grooms,
The deepest bonds that separate souls can fashion.
Years accumulate, the leaves turn ashen,
Forests stand naked as the winter looms.
On frigid mornings, on golden afternoons,
Underneath the roots love finds its ration.
Ravenous once, you now have long been sated,
Yearning still, but from a place called home,
Embracing what you have as what you are.
A choice was made, of course, but now seems fated,
Rendered as a fable writ in stone,
Signaled at your birth by some bright star.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon