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The Virgin
 Love like a river, begins as a stream,
slowly trickling, drop after drop.
It slowly bonds forming a creek,
flowing forward, through the valleys and hills,
the barren fields, and empty homes.
It has become a river of robust love.

The virgin opened by the stream,
she leads the rest,
the upstanding beeches, and oaks,
dwelt upon, studied,
looked upon to find their true existence.
The virgin does not care,
she opens outward pursuing,
making a path of her own,
which all wish to follow.

Again the virgin, open from the middle,
the valley is cut by the river.
Her love flowing forth as the rolling hills,
always forward, forward and up,
letting loose the species of the past;
new, larger trees and weeds overtake her.
Then as a quiet killer,
she scales the stone wall,
entering unseen, undetected
She becomes the path….