So the path behind is longer
than the trail ahead.
Wild flowers still bloom,
ready for picking along the way.
No more reins to white knuckle.
The children are loose
reining in their own foals,
galloping in fields you planted,
tended many years ago.
Embrace your lover joyfully
as days and weeks slip by.
Love more deeply, gently, surely.
Expect to share the morrow gladly
as you kiss the night goodbye.
Written fordVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Frank is tending bar, asking us to write a soliloquy poem today. Photo from Pixabay.com