She always was demure
a feather in the wind
I used her as my cure
my heart, on sleeve, so pinned
Celebrating what we had
and so our dalliance defend
never to pronounce as sad
our bodies, souls, to blend
Her glamour, still astounds me
at each and every turn
her hammer to my anvil
and so, my heart still yearns
The panacea of my woes
a gentle yielding hand
upon my soul exposed
surrendered, no demand
Mellifluous of voice
echoing down corridors of sand
I have made my choice
upon my heart, her brand
An old one from the old PF days 😀
loved that last stanza.. great stuff 🙂
Thanks NB 😀
nice…well thought out rhymes…mellifluous of voice, love that
Thank you Gregory! 🙂
Gorgeous. Yet how it leaves me scanting about for “her” identity. For all I know she’s the thing itself, and a woman above many a modern bitch. But since she could also be a metaphor I can’t think what to say.
Lovely, nonetheless.
Maybe a little of both 😉 thank you Jenny!
Sounds like a wish come true, or wishful thinking. Either way makes for
a great poem.
Thank you! 🙂