Before me an ancient table,
a lustrous finished piece of wood,
the surface slightly marred,
dull in spots, yet having
a depth that seems translucent
encasing waves of flowing hair.
There is love and character
in each twist of its grain,
years of stories written
in multicolored age rings,
what volumes are there, if
only one could read them.
A master gifted by time,
handled and buffed this wood
until, its surface was mirrored
to a sheen that reflects back
each transfixed soul gazing upon it,
marveling at its golden warmth.
With all my heart I do adore
and envy you for you will be lost,
I weathered and twisted by age,
will loose grasp of your touch
and, you will seek to be treasured,
capturing another admiring lover.
©2014, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 