Skip to main content

My Willow Man



  We all want to find our soul-mates one day.  Our destined companion, who will be our loyal and loving best friend.  Princesses, Duchesses, and ladies of this world dream of meeting their prince, dukes, and gentlemen.  We want to spend our young and old years with our prince charming.  We want to be royals, living in an Irish castle amongst the sea. 

  I pray for a God-fearing man each starry night.  Hoping God will bless me with my Irishman, my love.  Maybe meet my prince in an enchanted forest.  Girls and ladies alike want to sample infatuation.  Women young and old want a morsel of companionship.   All want to be kissed with a kiss of true love.



My Willow Man 

My love, my handsome beauty
Muscles like a brute stallion
Tawny mane hidden by tweed cap
Chiseled silhouette, lion-hearted air

My Irishman, My willow man
Come, patch my soul, sew the tear
Make my heart float, flutter, patter
Fill my soul with chipper butterflies
　
I see you resting your anxious thoughts
The rocks that converge a wall,
are damp and hard
Do not perch alongside loneliness
Stay away from the thorns of solitary

Come, lay your head on my cotton dress
Come, tangle your amber strands,
with my golden locks
Please, prevail upon me

Let the chapters of love begin
My Irishman, come, let's gallivant
Let's lay under the raining leaves,
of the "love willow"
　
Let's look upon the glistening pond
Reflect on this devotion
Come, be my willow man
 Glance your eyes of meek

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Memory Day" Memories

“Memory Day” Memories   August 11 th , 2008 will always be etched in my mind.   Why? Do you ask?   That was the day the leading man in my life went home, my dad, Bob J. O’Banion.   He was my encourager, support system, teacher, boulder, and most importantly, a godly leader.   When you needed a hand, both of his calloused hands were there to hug, shake, and give you a pat on the back.   When you needed Christian advice, his wisdom traveled from his can line to yours.   With the can pressed against your ear, you’d hear, “God is the way, the truth, and the light.”   He was a true definition of a man, a sovereign man.   Integrity made him a humble guide through the Blueridge Mountains, the dry desert, and beyond.   Love lined his face with deep canyon wrinkles.   He sought and dug ditches to provide.   The rooftop was his “day home”.   Sun-tanned skin branded him a “sweat by the brow” toiler.   Family sto...
2 comments
Read more

Seasonal Change

The loss of my dad still hurts, especially when seasons change.  . For those who have lost a loved one, the aching still seems to pulsate through the cracks left upon our hearts.  . Seasonal change can breeze in bronzes of bereavement. It can fall with ambers of aches and molasses colored missing.  . For me, this is true about Autumn. The leaves change once again, and my dad’s memory wafts o’er red-roofed wishing wells. The shallow water collects pennies of “wish you were here” under Birch trees.  . Seasons and holidays blow in memories that patina the past.  . Those who have lost a parent, we think upon childhood memoirs. Instances where we held our mom or dad’s hands, while strolling under amber stained glass etched with maple leaves.  . I think upon harvest memories where the jack-o-lanterns flow, and the crockpot chili steams in bowls.  . My dad walks behind my brother and I as we prance towards candy. In seasonal memory “trick-or-treats” bounce of...
2 comments
Read more

Climb the Rope of Hope

  I have to admit, I’m feeling a dew drop of sadness today. I was supposed to go to a RV show with friends, but decided to stay home. Why did I stay home? I miss my dad. It’s been almost 12 years and I still ache for him. I miss his love and his godly guidance (I’m crying as I write this post). I couldn’t go trudge in and out of memories. I couldn’t go up and down steps of the past. My heart couldn’t bear the weight of camper-sized flashbacks.  When I was growing up, we were a band of gypsies, as my dad called us. We traveled the highway and byways of America in our RV. We’d laugh and play games. We’d have conversations about God’s beauty. We’d bond as a family, as a God braided clan. That bond has made me grieve a hard grief. That closeness clamors my heart with the dad category of love. I don’t grieve on a daily basis anymore. The wounds of loss have healed. The scar is not as prevalent. But, the missing still resides. The missing still dews rosy teardrops.  ...
Post a Comment
Read more