The Aspen Tree Poem by John Rickell

She was Welsh as Snowdon's snowy peak
bright voice light as butterfly
never still, dancing through our conversation
turning the afternoon into a rush of delights
beside the mountain spring, sparkling diamonds;
crystal clear and sweet as honey dew,
its mossy bank a cushion 'neath the aspen tree
an opal hiding in the emerald green.
Time still as summer clouds fade in the sun.
So the day progressed, too few hours on the clock
now face down, time to look another day.
Distant wedding bells....we wished them well,
but we had no need, save to lie beneath the aspen tree.
Cares were for the morrow, the mountain spring
slaked our thirst into the night and sickle moon
sleeping on the mossy bank our communion complete,
no need for bread and wine or wedding rings
here beneath the aspen tree.