His love was a fledgling –
awkward in its moulting,
a pupation of sorts.
His grasp of her essence
floundered in the reeds
where others moved sure;
progress screeched
and twittered, juvenile
in proportion and quality.
But true love has a way
of making a man;
where finesse was lacking,
perseverance found flight –
I still see them soaring, now and then,
where time and age cannot clip their wings.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
I like both the words and the photo 🙂
Thanks very much!
Oh my goodness, this was beautiful, Melody! Thank you for sharing it with us!!
Thanks Debbie! I have been so busy and tired I haven’t had the energy to write much at all lately. Thank you for the encouragement!
How beautifully you’ve captured the essence–awkward–of what it means to make that transition. Precision writing. Thanks for continuing to share consistently exquisite poetry.
Thank you so much…