Slim and alive, with raven-black hair,
Monica raced up the spiral stone stair:
Dim stones absorbed light, reflected each sound
And sight was deprived while hearing was drowned
In echoes continuous filling the tower
Blending our footfalls in music of power.
Up, up in the dark, this never need end
Young legs and young hearts have power to spend.
Then dazzled, we’re out under glorious sky
On open-air terrace excitingly high
I’m filled with elation.
And suddenly shy.
We turn to each other
And slowly we kiss
What a gift was that moment
From that day to this.
Chris Hill 2009
