It’s a year to the day
Since you arrived in my life
And no one who has landed before
Has made anything like the impact you have;
No person I have known
Has marked the ground around me
So compellingly or with such business
And industry as you have so honestly brought.
Love has been
Dubbed before In the
Lanes of my animation but it’s also
Been lost or nailed to its own carried crosses
Without hope of
Remission, or the pleasure
Of resurrection to tether it to,
And fatefully it’s been placed within a grave.
People have sent
Friendship or lent trust
That has been rusted beneath
The insistent rules of my constant rain
Has washed away any sign
Of their endeavour or spread
Thinly their measure across the plains.
But only you have
Made the move from
Seed to me and grown inside
The husk of my hide with sufficient drive
To thrive and root
And inspire my tiredness
To respond long after it usually
Throws in a towel to announce retirement.
Only your lore
Has had the capacity
To capture me at source
And scatter ancient thoughts of mortality
That have ailed me
Since I first set foot upon
The turf that worsened at my touch.
The fine kindness
That imbues you flows
Easily into me and soothes
The winter views of my version of events;
Spans that have languished
Since love left me feeling useless
And unworthy of ever finding proof of it.
You have done this,
And with only best wishes
For the next adventure that has
Tempted me into maturity’s outstretched arms;
You have lit me
Internally and bidden
Me to learn more of you,
And together, my love, we are greater on Earth.