They roll down your cheeks,
Little universes
Each containing a fragment of your
Astonishment and pure joy.
A child whose eyes have been
Opened to the beauties of the natural world;
Meadows full of wild flowers,
Rock pools and puddles,
Waves rushing forward
Like herds of galloping white horses.
But you are no child,
And the wonder overwhelming you is
Love,
In its truest form,
And the knowledge that she
Is filled with it too,
Her body not big enough to contain it.
So out it comes
As tears
to match yours.
Treeshallow Musings 