Within a field of splendor she stood a rose among rye.
Not the only one, but one that lingered in my eye,
From morning’s first golden gift until dippers share the sky.
Question of left hand diamonds brought affirmative reply.
Mid forest of faces, down Rice Paper Road, my flower.
Best men and gaily clad maids stand statues in her honor.
Ten trained fingers play the lover’s march only for her.
If any have cause speak or leave her to me, forever.
© 1996 Tim D. Coulter Sr.