There was a time when, often,
Emptily she wandered,
Not knowing what she loved.
One June aery night,
To be clear,
She didn’t fall in love with him.
With its sharp, soundless arrow,
It is Love that fell on her.
She shall never tell which came first:
The sight of a heavenly light
Illuminating his eyes
Or the acute weakness of breath
Set off by the nearness
Of his presence.
And now miles apart, yet, together,
Feelings refusing to falter,
So often, tenderly, she has wondered,
What can a June night feel like
By the Danube River.