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"Sometimes a poem is like an entry in a journal - the journal of life perhaps.  Sometimes it is like a painting where the brushstrokes have the meaning and the image less so." - Allen Ansell

 
Through the blue haze,
With eyes squinting,
Quite softly she asked
'So you finally came?'
What was I to say?
I was here beside her
After what had seemed
An eternal search.
I decided to be silent -
Her question rhetorical.
I lay there prostrate
And felt her touch my head.
I was suddenly consumed
With unconditional love.


© Allen Ansell 2023