Of Love At Large

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He came home one misty evening,

Driving his old Fiat,

Down the boggy road,

An aftermath of last night’s downpour.

I could only see a blurry vision,

Of his wrinkled countenance,

Through my old lady eyes,

And of the rugged, young man by his side.

Dipped in the aperitif of youth,

The young man,

And him in his dwindling years,

A striking contrast as they stood on my porch.

The eyes almost succeeding to notice,

The keen resemblance and the memory spiraling,

Into a love-lorn summer night,

Disappeared into the twilight of bygone years.

No words are exchanged,

Just transformation of breathing,

Into heavy gasps of air,

And glistening corners of eyes.

He never knew about love,

He just came home one misty evening,

Driving his old Fiat,

As if he knew about loneliness.

poetry, ageofloveWoman Gone Rogue