Love is Patient

Love is patient, but not always wise,

Allowing her to dance in fields of red,

A wife he loves too often to chastise,

Afraid to lose her in the flower bed.

He gives her freedom while she combs her hair,

Offering what she will not take from him,

He stops himself again, he doesn’t dare,

She will return, again, after the interim,

Though not alone, and not before the bloom,

Of rose petals, too beautiful to wilt.

He sees them scattered all about her room,

And they are boldly laid upon her quilt.