There has to be an answer, he sang,
as he watched the fireflies dance.
The promise of eternity shone
in a weed and mushroom trance.
She had silently sought the answer
in the greyness of his eyes.
Hiding the pain of lotus pose cramps
she tried to internalise.
His answer was on the underground,
a gloss of ebony hair,
a classical first class art degree
and truth in that sultry stare.
She packed up Krishna along with him,
her trust in nirvana impaired.
Answers, she found, come one at a time
and are very seldom shared.
by Jennifer Christie Temple
Jennifer Christie Temple grew up in rural Hertfordshire in the 1950’s. The daughter of a traditional woodcutter and forester, her childhood days were spent in woodlands, meadows and country lanes and she learned to love and respect nature and all life.
She is a beloved mentor on WF and this poem is from the first of her two published collections titled Magic Of Life, which is available on Smashwords.