She waits patiently,
There are no tears,
In the pale light of dawn,
A low hanging moon,
Gives consent,
To a tentative sun,
Their light mingles.
The silver becomes luminous,
Colour is born,
The air thick,
I can spread it on my bread,
At once warm and cooling,
Carries a tang of sea,
A hint of cool brine,
And she waits patiently,
For a lover?
A child?
An arm full of flowers,
She has more grace than I.
