***** Lost Love, East and West
He’d long abided in Vermont’s winters;
she arrived from Ohio in mid-May.
There never was a doubt,
fiery first meeting to end,
they would lose a final bout.
They were as different as night
is to day, as marble is to clay.
New Englander, Midwesterner,
in love after second glance, were
doomed to a romance’s chance.
They never could survive, even as
Autumn’s sunset touched their lives.
Still, they plunged together.
Days relinquished Autumn hues,
dwindling into snowy December;
they moved to May, ignoring clues.
Differences of mind fired red-hot
in their aching heart of hearts.
Their arguments were unrefined,
struggles of strength beyond reason.
In Green Mountain winter woods
their babies were born, a blue-eyed
son, a dark-haired daughter to mourn.
Days went gray around the child
who remained, not the cause
of their loss, but neither the cure.
Their deep love, unstable at best,
could not somehow last the rest
of the year of their daughter’s death.
Their agreement to part was hard
fought, as any of their days of rage.
Love’s cruel loss, their choice
from the start, closed before the ebb
of another May. All was past.
Poem and Photo from the personal and copyrighted collection of Barbara Anne Helberg