Roots
Back to where my heart has grown,
buried deep in the garden of you.
You are my autumn, my fall,
my unchanging season, my harvest love,
a cornucopia of feelings refilling for you.
You are a nuisance, my dear—
falling into my lap, in oranges and reds,
falling in my path, troublesome,
falling into my hair, crowning me—
you are a dandelion patch in my heart,
arriving as a joyous yellow flood of petals.
You are a sunflower, my sunflower,
a gift of adoration,
an autumn aster’s gift of patience,
my crocus flower—
you bloom in my hands.
New harvests, your harvests
bring sweetly spiced scents,
ones of cinnamon and clove,
into my heart, my home,
where the garden of you
continues to grow.
A love poem written for no one in particular.
