When We Meet
I’ll not meet you side the highway,
Nor in the halls of commerce,
Where serenity and quiet,
Have no home … nor can be found.
I’ll reserve for us a table,
With a window on the Bayside.
Softly draped, with cloth of linen,
Weaved by noble Peasant hand.
We will sup with wine by locals.
Label known not to the merchant.
We will dine on fare from labours,
Of attentive, gentle care.
We'll be slow about our speaking.
Of each other we are learning.
Of each other are becoming,
More as One ... no more, the Twain.
We are learning, and accepting,
All that is our inner Beings.
All within us … all that makes us …
All defining who we are.
Can we cling to, save, this moment?
Can we hold it to our bosom?
Will it nurture and uphold us?
When our outside worlds, we face?
‘Tis most certain that we cannot.
For life’s swirling all about us.
This, the fledgling bond between us …
Life would pull and tear apart.
So please meet me, ere you wander,
In your busy life and duty,
At our table … by that window.
Where our Union knits, once more.
25 February 2008
Revised & Retitled 3 May 2009