Call Me Ever-On Poem by Mark Heathcote

Her cerulean eyes a lake house
In the winter till the spring
I row to. And in my dreams,
I sink before I awake to second-think
how far from shore I've come.
Her eyes don't bring me
summer flowers wilting in the autumn.
These flowers are already spent
and are a long time gone.
But they haunt my bones nonetheless
and call me ever-on.
And once I'm there, nothing
frequently matters except
her welcome and knowing for a fact I am home.