Fingers entwining,
the lovers pillow-talk while
lying by the fire.

Walk a thousand miles
wearing another man’s shoes
without leaving home.

Oh man-made idol,
you’re a shallow replacement
for a living god.

The seasons will change,
and we must ride the changes
like the moon and the tides.

Purple flowers bloom
between cemetery stones
as life continues.

Fade into the crowd.
You try to lose yourself, but
you can’t hide your shame.

Chorus of voices,
raised in celebration? Song?
No – demanding blood.

A thousand-year love
was not without its hard times,
but they talked it out.

Love in the morning –
the time we had together
was not spent idly.