The Rustic Stile At Lanes End
At lanes end
The rustic stile
Stands sentinel still
Marking that special place
Where the fates conspired
Our souls should meet
Though we purposely
Trod opposing paths
We met at that rustic spot
And to help you cross
I took your hand
Small and silken soft
Guiding you safe to my side
And despite the presence
Of each others companions
We were to all intents
Quite alone
And in those moments
When hand touched hand
We at once beheld
Our lives from that point on
Would be forever altered
And were content
With that destiny
Copyright © Paul Curtis. All Rights Reserved
