Hands of a Gardenerfeatured

My heart always hoped that someday I would find it,
A viable translation of a spoken language ceasing to be remembered,
By minds who no longer fluently resonated with its underlying tone.   

Many times, I planted roots in soil I thought would eventually grow,
A discovery which required more than sunlight and water to evolve,
The hands of the gardener must nurture and listen to the heartbeat of the flower.

In a field of wildflowers and under the illumination of the setting sun,
Our hearts smiled as we intertwined upon our passionate embrace,
Transcribing the reality of our connection through our lifelines.

Even in its purest form, my love for you was always wild and free,
Like two birds playfully soaring together on their journey,
Our souls drifted closely with the push and pull of the wind.

With Light & Love,
-H ❁