Once

A poem about what could have been.

In the time it takes for an apple tree
to bear the winter winds
to stand through ice and snow and storms
and finally bloom again
Ten times this much I waited, Love,
for you to know me, then.

But now all flower petals fade--
there drops a sad soft dew
upon the mold-strewn mountaintop
where once warm winds went through
Now Death reaps what was sown, my Love,
but, well, you never knew.