Laying the plate on the wooden table
She sets up her routine for the morning
It has a distinctive scent of motherhood

The bread feels crisp under the first slicing of the blade
As the crusts fall apart from the softer tissue
And pile up alongside her left hand

She must make haste to fill the plastic portable stomach
And send it off, before it arrives as an empty carcass in the evening
Her fingers are nimble in their accuracy

Should I Foolishly believe
I alone have been chosen
by powers unknown
to live on
till infinity meets eternity

when at that edge of time
my true life becomes sublime
then and then only
shall the
Bells
toll for me

all will know
none will ask

For whom
The bell tolls
lovedly!

I a skillful hunter
seek the shy reclusive doe.

Lying in wait that I may pierce her suddenly

with an arrow from Cupid's bow. 

Beneath the sheltering trees occasionally, I behold her reposing.
Gazing at her reflection in the watery sky.

Then I wonder
if it's for love of me that she's pining.

As her teardrops dapple the grateful roses which sigh.

The songbirds perch above with restless wings
living to serve only her.

Do not awaken sleeping trees,
who nod with ease
in quiet dreams
beneath moon beams,

whose roots rest within frozen earth,
their warmth, their berth,
while winter sighs
sweet lullabies

they shall remain in slumber deep,
in peaceful sleep,
amid the glow
of winter snow
***