If she had graced me less forthrightly
With her love, retreating, coy,
Deferring, waiting for my zeal…
Perhaps I would have craved her slightly
More initially, but like a boy,
Without the leisure to explore what’s real.
If she had not forgiven me
So patient with my errant need,
So ready with an open heart,
I might have reared indignantly
And pride arising like a steed
Had trampled frail contrition’s start.
Her generous nature puts a subtle
Challenge forth: calls me to task,
Her love, expansive, makes a home,
Its bracing comforts pierce my muddle,
Astonish me with space to ask
What moves me restlessly to roam?
The Bard says ‘All the world’s a stage’
And players we but walk our roles;
But witnessing this pith and rage,
True minds may yet escape their tolls.