a poem

Love,
what do I know of love?

I only know longing,
the yearning of my needs
and emptiness in my soul

Yet, once, I wandered up on
a blood root bloom, an herb
opening upon the forest floor,
of white so pure it startled
and life so brief
I could only gasp

Innocence itself,
giving for its own sake

Then
I was struck
by love

simply lived



by Elizabeth M. Cheatham