A Woman Born Too Late
Time is the essence of everything;
telling us when to laugh or cry;
time tells love, when to take wing;
and prodigals, when we must die.
Time has rarely been my friend;
I rarely have time to think;
time decides when love will descend;
love requires, both are in sync.
Time has recently enhanced my vision;
allowing me to see my perfect mate;
but, time, itself, often lacks precision;
a woman, time chose; born too late.
The woman, time chose, is beautiful;
her very soul is gorgeous too;
but, due to our ages; she’s unsuitable;
for her; it would never do.
She is Summer; while I live in Winter;
she sunbathes; as I trudge thru snow;
failure is my resume; she is a winner;
she is the goddess; all long to know.
She’s compassionate; and caring for others;
her eyes; most expressive; and pretty;
but, I’m too old; that we could be lovers;
tho I feel love; she can only feel pity.
She is the lovely woman of my dream;
if she knew it; she would be shaken;
only imagining the love she could bring;
I dream of her a while; then awaken.
Tho I feel love for her; deep in my soul;
to such love; she could never relate;
becoming lovers would never be her goal;
for, she was a woman born too late.
Monty 3/3/24. # 2,035