Finding My Love Poem by R. K. Hart

She might be the one, who stands outside theatre grand,
Waiting for the wealthy with ribboned violets in hand.
Her clothes hand me downs from a mother long gone,
She may be the one to raise my heart to sing its song.

She could be found by rushing stream pounding clothes on washing rocks,
Or scaling fish surrounded by gulls, boats and docks.
Her perfume might be that of soap or salt on misty air.
This fair maid could cause a young man's heart to dare.

She might be daughter to the mistress of the house,
And his bed the lowly stable with the company of a mouse.
His love walks by and her sweet perfume of lavender travels on a breeze,
Breaking the hearts of the stronger men and weakening them at the knee.

She may be the humble maid in a public house on Collins Street,
Shapely green uniform, moving from room to room so discrete.
When the day is done she dresses in a red coat.
And her blonde hair on its collar floats.

She is no doubt among one of this four,
That has my love one thousand score.
One stolen kiss caused my being to lift and lips to sing,
And turned this tradesperson into a warrior king.

Tears inhabit my eyes when pain visits your being,
But my love desires nothing only to hear you sing.
And will do so til a last breath leaves my lungs,
And Lord willing I hear the words, 'Well done'.