Poem by drice

Dear, sweet Sappho,
your torment is my own;
it spans the age
and the lives
of all who share

Her secret. When passion
and desire stirred within
your fair breast, I wept
silently with you,
through hummid nights

and fog veiled mornings
that found you aching
and alone. Your moments
of weakness were your glory!
You met your fears

of doubt
of love
with wit and charm.
I marvel
at your strength!

Often have I wished
to hold you
with my arms,
and spirit,
to sooth--

be consumed by--
your blazing fires.
When time has spun
full circle, and next
we meet

honor me with a smile
as I kiss your finger tips
and be assured
in the realm of love
your torment is my own.

== Sappho ==
 11/29/1987 David Rice