to dare to imagine...time would stop

a perfectly folded note

with care each word he wrote

bygone times... or ... was it just a mere fantasy

that with his wits played craftily ?

the festive season, blessed with the year past

each memory of a bygone time...fantasy...?...to last

for the heart be full and the body satiated

with pleasures desired, so long awaited.

and thus to pen, no matter it be real or not

in posterity, not to be forgot

for time does know to do its thing

and memories along with it do wing...

no desire in that cauldron of forgetfulness to fling

so much imagined...?...shared ... that joy did bring.

she found his note and pondered,

was it a reality or his imagination, she wondered,

for something deep within her pulled

such beauty penned...had imagination him fooled?

did it matter if it be real or not

even if imagination, reading it, she became a part

of a time that engulfed each second shared

of lovers who dared

to imagine

... time ...

would stand still for them.

RB.