Tender, tender, time and again
Her love like the morning sun–
Warming hope in flowers stretched long for praise.
She smiles in the pale dawn light sneaking past wicker wood shades.
Her breath is slow and free now.
Wind whistles at the trees
Shadowing pictures on the wall, and
Hiding footprints in the sand of late night walks from the sea.
We reach to hold hands on those walks,
So many days the very same way.
Like in Idaho
On the brown basalt canyon rim above the river,
With the brave blue sky
And sage in the air,
Birds swirling to land in the rocks,
Holding my wife's hand,
Her hair waving across my face with the breeze.
A desert orchestra of possibilities before us.
Read more at desertidaho.com
Thanks!
