Out of winter's
	Icy, white wastes;
	Out of sharp, cutting
	Glaze and frigid snow,
	Treacherous drifts
	And dirty slush
	Comes a fragrance
	Sweet and feminine.
	What is in a scent
	But a world
	Of memories?
	The lushness
	Of a springtime garden
	Filled with sun
	And laughter.
	Special summer nights
	When crickets
	Were all that spoke
	To break
	Our loving silence.
	Days when
	The earth and I
	Were close to one,
	When I knew
	The heartbeat
	Of creation,
	The deep, rhythmic
	Breathing in and out
	Of the Soul
	Of all the Universe.
	The soft smell
	Of this unknown lass
	As she passes by
	Awakens dreams
	Too long dormant
	In my lethargy.
	Through my mind
	This scent
	Sends skittering
	Traces of energy
	Long forgot,
	Ideas thought dead,
	Visions believed
	Faded beyond recall.
	Is it chance
	Which brings her
	Down my hall?
	Or from afar
	Does the mystic world
	Still beckon me?

1/11/77

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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