The Old Rustic Stile

The old rustic stile

At the end of the lane

Still stands like a memorial

Marking that special place

Where the fates conspired

That our souls should meet

Though on that day

We purposely trod opposing paths

But met at that rustic spot

And to help you cross

I took hold of your hand,

Small and silken soft

Guiding you safely to my side

Where you stood on terra firma

And despite the presence

Of our companions

We were to all intents

Quite alone as we stood

Hand in hand and in the moment

When hand touched hand

We at once beheld

Our lives from that point on

Would be forever altered

Our future journeys

Would be as fellow travellers

And we were content

With a shared destiny

The old rustic stile

At the end of the lane

Stands like a monument

Marking the place of alteration

A significant place

A spiritual place

A place often revisited

And on such sojourns

We find romantic renewal

As the energizing memory

Of that special moment

Of love at first sight

Assails our senses

Essentially invigorating

Like imbibing the waters

From the fountain of youth

And our hearts once again

Resound with joyousness

Sweet moments of romance

Those excited tingles

Of loves first passion

When hearts beat faster

And desire courses

Through every fibre

The thrill of blossoming love

Adding to the strata

Of our love, laid down

Through all our years together

So by returning to the place

Of loves wondrous inception

We keep our love alive

And in equal measure

Love returns the favour

What a precious poem.
Truly heartfelt and truly beautiful.

Thanks Kiz, so glad you enjoyed it