Wisteria

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I moved into the white Georgian style
on Laurel Lane in Saint John
Where you became the sun
to my wilting wisteria in the lawn,
All moonlight left the sky
as you became the dawn.

We'd met at the vista
seven miles up the avenue
As I envisioned
my life anew
Your eyes struck me
one green
one blue
On that Sunday
against the panoramic view.

Days after,
summer filled the air of Saint John
Clarity came
and my troubles had gone
You were on the way
so I put the coffee on-

My wisteria once wilting
now blooming in the lawn.

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