The lovers took to the mountain and lay under the sun in the grass, his hand on her thigh. She said, I cannot surrender a gift so precious but this memory will be yours to keep. She laid his hand on her breast. The sweet…

I wanted to try a Golden Shovel poem from an earlier prompt tonight. I happened to do this one, also on loss. From W.B. Yeats – When You Are Old “But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you”     The weather was always…