There was a sprinkle and a twinkle to their love.
Like a cookie, prized by children,
Given only when they were especially good.
The “A” and” J” carved in the tree atop
Fielding Mountain, their favorite climb,
Was more than an idle inscription,
Told less, then a little, of its joy.
His pride in her every things,
Her thrill in his all ways,
Brilliant because of themselves.
Every love song sung
And sonnet ever scribed
Could not equal the tender
Sweetness of their breath
When echoing together,
Their mirrored bodies and souls
Became happy as one.
Weaving the outside into finely-made cloth,
They met each day
As a basket of surprises.
Never growing dull always staying bright.
The farm, the crops, the horses, the son,
Perfect set pieces for the drama of life
In a world that welcomes wild flowers
To bloom again each Spring.
— Char Duguid