Like a piece of wood-

maple or cherry,

square, edges sharp

with the rules and games

of young love -a splinter

or two of the fresh hewn

plaque, poking to remind

all is not in fun-

serious business- this

holding another heart,

carefully-not to squeeze

the grain dry, but to polish

it with a kind word-oh the rote

of learning how to love!

.

Some,  never blessed- the edges

 sharp and rough, scratched

by poison words and angry eyes.

but those who gather the golden grain ,

hang the old plaque on the heart ,

the patina smooth from years of caressing,

fondling , and filing

down the raw grain until

the golden maple color shines,

and the edges rolled smooth,

pass from one life to another.

That is what old love is-

smooth, shiny, burled, and beautiful.

.

02/07/2005