The Lover's Chronicles (Part Three)

holding autumn's leaf in your hands,
early December... all passion's colors
have melted, into brown in time grown
brittle...
and so i hold your hand, without grasping
so hard as if to lose, yet knowing your
hand... every nuance, every mile, every
destiny come and gone... feeling every
trace of living as if a prayer...
listening to your hand as if to a hymn...
your hand and mine, we rock... the wind blows
in perfect rhythm, we wait... for a time,
and a time, with no need to hurry!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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