The rudders of life survival at it’s most elementary forms saps my strength as I watch aged and etched lines of worry play upon the usually optimistic countenance of my husband/lover.
So in him indeed can I see that Camelot is alive and that ever beyond is he the true spawn of a lion, my warrior.
And I in my lifetime rejoice for I know what wonder of wonders, what it is to be queen.

Did I not give birth to a princess?Spoiled, bewitched, and most times beautiful child-woman.
I see her yet but through the haze, struggling to fly free and not realizing that the price of flight is responsibility for oneself.

The haze beckons and we are drawn towards yet another foreign horizon, stopping only long enough to master our momentary fear of the unknown.

Strengthened only by our togetherness two graying survivors reaching upwards once more after fleeing the never, never, land of classless mediocrity.

We lift our wings once more in flight, the air we find warmer and we head homeward escaping yet another winter.
Come beloved while there is still time and let us as always toast the future as the new song that it is.
And when the final shade is lowered, let us exit the stage satisfied that we did indeed perform both long and graciously according to our talents.

(dedicated to my husband/lover 9/20/1977)