While sitting knee to knee,
Next a tranquil sensate-swirled
Pastoral sat we three.
No house was needed, nor a sill,
Nor glass for looking through,
Soft lens of nature Whippoorwilled
Entreat of form and hue.
I held her hand, He held us both,
Our bench a fallen tree,
Our audience a cornucope
Of critters, cranes and bees.
We gazed upon enchantments
Formal-hewn, fair inscribed
By ancient patterns, foreign gems
Embedded for our eyes.
Pure and dainty Dogwood leaves
Had parted, beauty’s frame,
Portal to a liquid peace
Enwreathed, Azalean flames.
Greying dock, herringboned,
Lay low, inviting chafed
To dip their sore, ill-ladened soles
In waiting, lapping lake.
“Truth is beauty,” seemed to waft
In words unspoken, felt,
Grand design of One who oft
Seemed distant now impelled.
Enwrapped in moment vitalized,
Creation’s glimpse exposed,
Through window Love immortalized
ArborVitae rose.
