I have been waiting at Creek Bridge,<\/p>\n
Solitary and subsumed in the surrounding scene<\/p>\n
Of water, rocks, and trees,<\/p>\n
To meet her<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Now the wait has turned into a wail,<\/p>\n
The lovely marsh below the bridge<\/p>\n
And the bucolic charms of the scene lie starving,<\/p>\n
As she lingers on for the rendezvous<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It was her who wanted to see me,<\/p>\n
For which I had no choice,<\/p>\n
I would exchange a hundred trophies<\/p>\n
For her one glimpse.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Love is the special when it is inspired,<\/p>\n
It is spurious when it is forced,<\/p>\n
There are no rules for love<\/p>\n
But the ones hearts invent.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
My life has been<\/p>\n
One long preparation for death –<\/p>\n
But this I cannot tell the world –<\/p>\n
For it will never get it.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Hope for love is more rewarding<\/p>\n
Than its possession,<\/p>\n
Loving rebukes are more stimulating<\/p>\n
Than correct courtship.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
History has more weight than well-laid plans,<\/p>\n
Failures are more enlightening<\/p>\n
Than shimmering but hollow victories,<\/p>\n
Living is more important than talk about it.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Without tragedy love would be<\/p>\n
A free-pass to a giddy carnival,<\/p>\n
Without pain it would be<\/p>\n
Pearls without a string.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I am sure she would not be coming,<\/p>\n
I must retreat to my study,<\/p>\n
Immerse in my books,<\/p>\n
And think that I had a good time.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Suffern, New York, Feb. 15, 2017<\/p>\n