I wrote this on a rainy day thinking about the long gaps between events in the life of an isolated country girl that would leave her without the thrill of meeting the one who makes her pulse race …

Spring turns to Summer the harvest is coming

new moon blooms full through mist and ice chill

the light on the hill tells a fortune of winter

I wait for my lover I wait for him still

Planting to reaping, rhubarb to berries

bare feet and cotton, to thick boots and twill

Laughing to weeping, short hair no longer

I wait for my lover I wait for him still

Seeing turns to liking, liking to meeting

meetings to touch, a blush to a thrill

holding of hands then hearts gently given

I wait for my lover I wait for him still