Queen Anne

In the photo shop we stand, years ago hand by hand,
One of my first visits to her far eastern exotic land,
I have curly hair then, her long black hair down her back,
indelible simple memory, there was nothing that I lack.

She was the teacher, I the pupil and learned every day,
we hang on words that bond with everything we say,
the photos will still be there, long after we're gone,
they can tell a story, all the adventures we'd been on.

In Bali evening light, procession on the beach was golden,
aura so intense with magic, needed something to hold on;
we took the mystery along with us, a smooth moonlit karma,
with that inside our persona, somehow it was always warmer.

Now we're older, love didn't grow colder, calmness still sits,
I'm still learning from my teacher and always love her to bits.