Tag Archive | spring

The Dreamer & The Fawn

My grandmama (on my mother’s side) wrote a beautiful poem about a young man from long ago and a love that they shared yet was never spoken of. It stays with me, here and there I’ll see it among all her writings, letters and stories. When I think of it, as I find myself now, I always wonder why… why they never told each other how they truly felt? Never the right time perhaps? Something or someone always getting in the way? I suppose I’ll never really know… I can only hope that now on another plain they have found a way to exchange soft words and not far off glances, glances inevitably blocked by “the timing just isn’t right.”

Does one ever truly have the courage to risk breaking friendships that are so elegantly intertwined? Those that seem to stay in a land where time stands still, each moment filled with laughter and promises of forever never coming to pass.

The poet who speaks with flowers and words scripted upon stones hidden far away. But is it only a romantic fantasy? A stable boy finding his way to the princess, though worlds keep them long apart.

How do we dream up such things? Is it not because of the heart. The heart which through shadow and dark passage can only speak the truth, untainted by jealous thought and fear, the heart a peaceful warrior always steady, always strong. The candle in the wind.

“Bring me a rose any day and smile sweetly, I’ll remember, through star cast nights when the winds whisper ‘always and forever’, I’ll remember…”

“Wait for the pass to open when winter is finally gone, but be wary, sweetheart, of waiting far too long. The spring will come then go, the grass will weave and frosts not so tender hand will grasp and tear, another winter has come and for what? To leave one waiting… and springs perfect timing yet again to come, missed, now gone…”

For all my thought-filled wanderings I’ll leave your mind to play with this.

Be wary sweetheart. ‘Alone’ is ‘long’, when robbed of ‘A’, ‘E’ and followed by ‘G’. … and love is hardly this sensible… Be it always tender and strong.

-Said the wayward dreamer to the fawn.

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