She came from the wide ranging lands of the New World;
I came from the High Wolds in the heart of the Shire;
worlds apart, yet... so alike in our thinking;
our thoughts touched, and sparked... and soft grew a sweet fire.
Her hair was pale golden... like sun-kissed, corn meadows,
that, in the high Wold breezes, shimmer and dance;
Her eyes were a perfect, Forget-Me-Not Blueness...
those flowers that denote tragic fate... and romance.

And, indeed, romance blossomed... or so, it seemed;
the whispered words lovers share soft, in the night;
the promises made of a shared life together...
all love, and all laughter... the sweetest delight.
Hand in hand with her, in the bright, distant New World;
the High Wolds abandoned; the Shire... memory;
but then... She was gone, like Moon-mist on still water,
and I think, forever...
she is lost to me.

Never, perhaps... to gaze into her eyes of Forget-Me-Not Blueness...
to drown in their hue;
Never, perhaps... hear the sound of her voice...
to hear her soft whisper... "Oh yes... l love you."
Never perhaps... to touch her face with fingertips...
hold her close to me, from the night's bitter chill;
a fairy tale shared? Yes perhaps, but it was sweet; it never quite happened...
I don't think it will.

And, that... perhaps, is why Forget-Me-Nots hold an old Legend of tragic fate... romance to mar;
God bless; and keep you all safe from harm, sweet one...
tonight, and forever... wherever you are.
"Ne m'oubliez pas"...
no, I will not forget you...
the High Wolds in summer remind me of you;
the cornfields, soft pale in the young morning sunlight...
and by the wayside;
Forget-Me-Nots...
blue.

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This is also just a poem of lost love... it's not part of my autobiography!