Bereft Romantic

He refused sadness
After all
He was told
More of life is of romantic aura
Than we recognize

His walks through the woods
Reminded him of how a simple bird chirping
Brought smiles of love
Even the swaying birch limbs
Shared their shadow dance
The light
The shadow
All caressing his wounded soul

Yet…

As he extended his hand into the stream of early spring runoff
He was reminded how magical
Gentile rippling water could be
Giving his flight of fancy
A much-needed soothing of reality’s often harsh sentiment
Allowing many tears of nature’s healing powers
Passage through his fingers
The coldness refreshing his downtrodden sense of purpose

His walk back through wildflower meadows
Gave rise to his appreciation of her perfume
Her morning wake-up smile
Like the opening of a closed rose having rested the night

How different opening the front door on that day
The closing
The standing alone
The aura of past joy lingering
Reminding him that perhaps there was truth in
It being better to have loved and lost
Than to never have loved at all
Especially in light of
The day’s enlightenment
Presenting the everyday
The ordinary
The often taken-for-granted romance all around him
Nature’s healing power
Like a being sensing a poultice of soft and warm dressing
To help heal a wounded heart and mind