You have engraved my name
across the valleys of the moon.
Chipping away with patience
at the untouched bedrock
you were sparing no effort
to craft perfect characters
then trimmed them with
unchanging garlands of dust.

I have printed your name
onto the boiling gases of the sun.
Jeopardising my existence,
yet never cringing
I stubbornly defied the heat.
I lifted, and spun and twisted
those dark hostile filaments
to create my blazing hymn.

As long as those celestial bodies
are moving through space
on their predestined paths,
while the clock is still ticking,
and the creatures of the human stem
are alive and observing the skies,
we will not be lost in the mists of time,
our love unforgotten, almost eternal.

© november child
photo credit: Top Ten Pack
in response to: Brenda Warren’s Wordle 262