From dungeons of icy-cold places
by Fay Slimm
Where gloom blears the norm of each day
Love can emblazon, enwrap and adorn.
Rainbowing colour, agog to be born.
In unrivaled, uplifting display.
Hearts feel, more than see this transforming
From grinding-dull dross to ALIVE.
Love sees itself in the depth of a rose,
In birdsong, in love-song, or amorous prose.
Love needs naught but a chance to survive.