With Althea

You were my song in summers past

Where the bracken thinned to white

Of Queen Anne’s lace over gorges fast

Against age and speech alike

The rocks fell into canyons whose

Every fingertip we could climb

Up to the nests of red hawks loosed

To heaven’s twilit design

Our paths were ever lighted by

Your head of strawberry gold

That brought us home through nights and winters

Through forests thick, and marshes cold

We have lost those vistas sweeping

Where sand and sun danced intricacies

Strange and fanciful as novels

Stranger still in memory

And your hair fades darker now

More of the earth than gold

Yet at times we do remember

And always the stories hold

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