Sonnet to Sylvia's Lost Love

Young Sylvia, the earth beneath her soul
And mourning dew all wet between her toes,
She walks beyond the trees and up the knoll
To secret haunts lit by the dawning glow.
There a breeze moves so soft to lift her hair.
There a mist of morn adorns her glist'ning
Gaze, alight with golden rays; eyes aflare.
Yet heart all still, she waits with longing; list'ning
For one soft voice upon the knoll to rise,
Ascending as the breath of fragrant blooms,
For one stayed hand to dry her swollen eyes,
And sooth the ache where lover's spirit looms.
     Here is his hand; it lights upon her cheek
     As wildflowers, sweet balm of love do speak.

R.A. Wittum
August 2010