the picture told a story
love suffused her face, spreading a patina of joy
into the architecture of muscles beneath the skin
marking a glow behind the eyes,
smoothing care-wrinkles of normality, and
what it is to be mother of the world,
real love is no artifice
that deep pool is the river of life,
not the rushing torrent you know as young
boiling up, spewing in fierceness,
first time torn cloth and excuses
out of control, jealousy, despair
foaming and all whiteness
roaring ,spilling, to lands end
real love be the Thames , wide and muddy
slow to develop , irresistible
old and been there,
sluggish and restless all at once
a force not to reckon with
there is no other
just take your chance