‘the stem’

love is the creation
of imagination
is the language of the soul
to allow the fantasy
yields no harm nor foul

sometimes they wept
through momentum kept
yet in the end all would mend
as in each other’s arms
their souls slept

distance wouldn’t tear them
the way itself would keep them
challenge has been their retribution
though victory is assured
the bud blooms at the top of
the stem

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