The wrath of the skies on one midsummer night,
Showered thunder and storm on a saturated Earth,
Creeks were filled, rivers rose, and the water raged on,
Widening crevices, paths, downstream flow current strong.
Fields were turned into lakes and house basements to pools,
Drowning all that did not float under cold waterfalls.
It took days for the sun to return to her post,
And the water to give up its conquered lots.
To the basement she went to assess what was lost,
Finding water-soaked pictures the decades engulfed,
Parts of life that belonged to her much younger self,
Faded memories interred in a box on a shelf.
Curiosity, courage combined to an act,
Message sent, one returned, an exchange then begot,
And the flame that was lit then, a lifetime ago,
Kept suppressed, now caught fire with force to behold.
Love is patient, it waits for the right time to strike,
It combines chance and place, and two spirits delight,
From disaster and agony loss sprung fresh love,
That took decades to simmer but has timely arrived.