A Picture Of Love

I was walking alone in the countryside;
where grasses and trees, abound;
with no one to speak to; except my pride;
though life existed; all around.

Surroundings of green; from a summer season;
with barns, the color of mellow wine;
some barely standing; who knows the reason;
all of it, a part of reality’s design.

I came upon a rapidly flowing stream;
some might say, a babbling brook;
it all appeared a segment of a dream;
a glimpse of a past, forsook.

I listened to the sound of a whippoorwill;
and the fluttering of leaves in the trees;
suddenly all of the surroundings grew still;
my thoughts brought me to my knees.

I had been viewing a vision of life, past;
perhaps, before time had begun;
how could such beauty fail to last;
and life, itself; merge into one?

Was it a vision; or only my dream;
the future is not mine to see;
love is the recurring image, seen;
for such is what’s meant to be.

All life is but a true picture of love;
sometimes we laugh or cry;
we all shall return to our dream, above;
where love can never die.

Monty 2/26/24. # 2,023