When the sun began diving, we met on the road.
The lane was uneven, or so I am told.
She bent under a basket of laundry and coal,
I asked if I could bare it and gave it a go.

The sun was dyspeptic, a regular bear,
but I didn’t mind as we walked together there.
“I like your lavender.” “I like it to-
I like the stitched leather crowning your shoe!”

“I like your blond locks that twirl in the wind.”
“I like your strong hands that helped out a friend.”
“I like the twilight, and horses, the early morning dew,
the rings on the pond face there…” “Oh, I do too.”

I liked her smile, her long willowy limbs,
her eyes like an evening fog when the pink light descends.
I liked her quiet glow, her warm lifting laugh,
her awkward little steps down the cobblestone path.

We found we liked many things that make a two friends,
morsels and fishes and squabbling hens,
lights on Don’s Tower at the autumn event
where dancing and dining were a week present.

We shared so many qualities, interests, and likes
we forgot as time passed and we talked on our hike,
until over the orchard hill, a lane branched off left,
and she stopped and she asked to recover her heft.

“I’m so glad I met you- it’s like we are twins!”
You’ve been most enjoyable- I’m sorry it ends.”
“It ends?” I asked loudly as she turned away,
my once present smile a twisting of gray.

When the moon began rising, we split down two roads,
She with her basket, and I, a new load.
It was misty and dreary and suddenly cold.
She was quickly gone, and I was quickly old.

That lane had been uneven, or so I was told,
when the sun began diving, and we met then on the road.