How do years submit themselves as new,
become subject to all that came before as beautiful.
Words become life, entreating her as they do,
with a question, revealing all that is hidden in a man.
Such things are sweet, what is ever wonderful,
to love inside life's coincidental plan.
Either hope or tears greet the morning,
discovering an exit from behind these mortal veils.
A face is remembered there, without warning,
that forever shines upon his face like the midday sun.
A name lives on the wind, filling life and sails,
the place where the journey is begun.
To touch her hands is to touch the sky,
together, a world of dreams to reach out and gather.
Such excitement could teach new hearts to fly,
to become as children again, again to all things new.
Hers are colors of beauty, her delicate matter,
and sparkling like the morning dew.
Silence becomes the music of the night,
a place to listen for some kindred heart in the dark.
To awaken again in her joy and rising bright,
in time's discourse, she never dims or ever grows old.
Above the trees and meadow, his solemn oath,
to love her dearly beyond words untold.
Brian Francis Hudon
December 31, 2019
