All those years ago,
when you first touched my hand
and said it was then you knew:
we thought we did,
but there was much more
we’d yet to traverse through.
For all those years,
you’ve been my rock,
and, sometimes, I, yours,
memories made and
to be made, with all of life’s
twists and turns,
It was first, you, who knew,
and now this I know:
Our hands belong intertwined.
No matter, my dumpy mood,
my discouragement, my joyful elation,
always, that twinkle in your eyes,
that spark with the gentle touch
of my hand,
never escapes my mind.
Why you’ve never left, when
perhaps I would have gone,
I cannot comprehend.
But each time I turn
to catch a glimpse,
there you are again.
You’ll take my hand, that same gentle way,
“Come, give me a hug, my love”,
And our arms wrap us together,
that calm oasis, that wordless bond
that once, we thought we knew,
was just the whisper of forever.
©Janet Mitchell, May 2012
