Part VI: Laurels Of Love

“If happiness had a mortal face,

Then it should be the ravishing kind;

If it has loved in its earthly days,

‘Tis my countenance its frame would bind.”

Obvious pleasure consumed Hellas’ child

But his poem can’t contain his bliss;

He writes the next lines on air so mild

His rich laughter—history can’t miss!

The prince of Thessaly stopped to smile

At the scenic garden he’s held dear

Her enchanting beauty spreads with style—

Her poetry he can softly hear!

“Inland sea winds may carry my blades

And mountain floods may erode my grains;

Years may pass as beauty’s mem’ry fades,

But my love for you will stay through pains.”

Her green tips race along with the breeze

And back to shadow and touch his cheek;

She sings her literature with ease—

With a voice that melts the toughest Greek

The skies witness the triumph of hearts—

Beings exchanging laurels of love:

Leaves forming inseparable parts,

Heartbeats lining—a wreath up above!

For a fighter wounded by lances,

She alone can assuage his worst aches;

For a man who, for her heart, took chances,

His laurel of love is what she makes

For Karem El’s grim sacrifices,

He showed her that red can be roses;

For a worthy soul who firmly rises,

Heaven’s grace is his sincere fondness

Her vineyards now stream with wine and oil—

Contrast to her then-bloody frontlines;

His ecstasy overflows through toil—

Beaming like he never had gash lines…

Laurels of love—fulfillment of trust

Crown of patience, delight of lovers;

For where once-troubled flints are robust,

Pines, olives and laurels are covers.