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The Fall

A Fleeting Brush with Love

I wrote this poem in 2003 about someone I was falling for, but sadly it was never meant to be.  It seems this is how love always turns out for me.

The Fall

Sleepy splashes of sunset gold,
sighed softly and sank toward the sun.
Floating on the scented air,
two distant souls collided,
suspended by the swirling breeze,
spiraled skyward;
separate yet inseparable, 
danced slow and serene,
sensitive to the ebb and flow,
sweetly spellbound.

Then stirring,
overcome by gravity, succumbed.
And severed, were swept away,
carrying the moment in memory sealed.

© Skye Bothma, 2003

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