He was the county Vicar
The county knew her as the forbidden fruit
He was intent on saving her soul from the fires of hell
She bore her own heavenly intention
Every morning he passed by her garden gate
boasting thistles and morning glory at the feet of hollyhocks in bloom
He kept step to the straight and narrow path that framed his existence
She was methodical in paving a stone path straight to her doorstep
Finally she conceded to a confession
He stepped across the stones towards a pot of chamomile tea and thistle honey cakes
The hall clock ticked to her heart beat
and she poured out more of the warmth tea provided
As the sun moved its face through the room
the fragrance of forgiveness permeated the summer air
She fell to her knees in front of him
placing her brow upon his linened lap
His hands graced the red locks flowing with unbridled will
He began to weep out loud
She forgave him...
bkmackenzie
copyrighted 2010
posted for One Shot Wednesday at One Shot Poetry
