by Erwin A. Thompson
For the second anniversary of Ruth’s death, May 1, 2006
My first love was like a pansy,
brought too soon from the greenhouse’ sheltering glass.
A late frost took its vicious toll.
That love was never meant to last.
My second love was like a native fern,
nestled gently in a forest glen.
God planted it a hundred years ago,
nobody knows just when.
It weathers out the ice and snow,
the chilling winds that sweep the country side.
It will be the symbol of our love
long after our mortal bodies die.