Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

To feel his warm breath on her cheek,
To know his heart beats next to hers,
Is enough for her, but not for him.
Exiled, he longs to retrace the tendril,
The wandering vine,
That stretches into foreign soil
And rejoin the mother earth that gave him birth.
She knows the land will draw him back.
Not all the green seas in all the world
Could keep him from his home.
She sighs and plucks a berry,
Red as his lips,
From the rowan tree.
She savours the taste with sadness,
A memory to warm her nights.