By: Wayne Miles-Underhill
You followed me into a forest blue
With one summer morning’s haze
I had beckoned and you came.
I promised you no reward for your faith in me.
Many had more to offer you for
Your basket held many treasures not
Uncommon for one so young and pure.
You gave me permission to taste your fruit.
The juice of your berries tinted my lips and
The wine from your grapes coated my tongue
Leaving me speechless.
Now I am alone in a glade of despair
For I gave you nothing of value,
Perhaps guilt has its own coinage.
I can’t recall if you asked me for anything.
You may have but I must not have heard.
Maybe if I stand at the edge of the forest
And watch for the swirl of your skirt
As you pass, I’ll know that your
Innocence is gone and although my appetite for
Fruit is still not satisfied, you will not heed my call
And pass by without a second glance,
As you should have done long ago.