A Chance For Love. . .
Each time is a new time,
cast in the shadow
of a rock, a cave,
or even a cove. . .
Simply set and
inspired by a rolling coast,
a sunset, a glimpse
of a new place. . .
New tidings of good cheer,
a glass of sweet wine,
robust, quaffed in slow gulps
but favored by a thirsty throat.
Ever new, ever fresh
as a new beginning.
New worlds,
hammering their impatience
with promises;
limited only by how much
we are ready to forget.
One response to “Promises. . .”
Beautiful Veronica. Thank you again.