A Birthday Present
```Say what, to please you, you would have me be.''
Then listen, dear!
I fain would have you very fair to see,
And sweet to hear.
`You should have Aphrodite's form and face,
With Dian's tread;
And something of Minerva's lofty grace
Should crown your head.
`Summer should wander in your voice, and Spring
Gleam in your gaze,
And pure thoughts ripen in your heart that bring
Calm Autumn days.
`Yours should be winning ways that make Love live,
And ne'er grow old,
With ever something yet more sweet to give,
Which you withhold.
`You should have generous hopes that can beguile
Life's doubts and fears,
And, ever waiting on your April smile,
The gift of tears.
`You should be close to us as earth and sea,
And yet as far
As Heaven itself. In sooth, I'd have you be
Just what you are.'
poem by Alfred Austin
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To The New-Born
A BLESSING on thy head, thou child of many hopes and fears!
A rainbow-welcome thine hath been, of mingled smiles and tears.
Thy father greets thee unto life, with a full and chasten'd heart,
For a solemn gift from God thou com'st, all precious as thou art!
I see thee not asleep, fair boy, upon thy mother's breast,
Yet well I know how guarded there shall be thy rosy rest;
And how her soul with love, and prayer, and gladness, will o'erflow,
While bending o'er thy soft-seal'd eyes, thou dear one, well I know!
A blessing on thy gentle head! and bless'd thou art in truth,
For a home where God is felt, awaits thy childhood and thy youth:
Around thee pure and holy thoughts shall dwell as light and air,
And steal unto thine heart, and wake the germs now folded there.
Smile on thy mother! while she feels that unto her is given,
In that young day-spring glance the pledge of a soul to rear for heaven!
Smile! and sweet peace be o'er thy sleep, joy o'er thy wakening shed!
Blessings and blessings evermore, fair boy! upon thy head.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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A Calendar of Sonnets: April
No days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
poem by Helen Hunt Jackson
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St. Philip And St. James
Dear is the morning gale of spring,
And dear th' autumnal eve;
But few delights can summer bring
A Poet's crown to weave.
Her bowers are mute, her fountains dry,
And ever Fancy's wing
Speed's from beneath her cloudless sky
To autumn or to spring.
Sweet is the infant's waking smile,
And sweet the old man's rest -
But middle age by no fond wile,
No soothing calm is blest.
Still in the world's hot restless gleam
She plies her weary task,
While vainly for some pleasant dream
Her wandering glances ask. -
O shame upon thee, listless heart,
So sad a sigh to heave,
As if thy SAVIOUR had no part
In thoughts, that make thee grieve.
As if along His lonesome way
He had not borne for thee
Sad languors through the summer day,
Storms on the wintry sea.
Youth's lightning flash of joy secure
Passed seldom o'er His spright, -
A well of serious thought and pure.
Too deep for earthly light.
No spring was His--no fairy gleam -
For He by trial knew
How cold and bare what mortals dream,
To worlds where all is true.
Then grudge not thou the anguish keen
Which makes thee like thy LORD,
And learn to quit with eye serene
Thy youth's ideal hoard.
Thy treasured hopes and raptures high -
Unmurmuring let them go,
Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly
Which CHRIST disdained to know.
Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon;
The pure, calm hope be thine,
Which brightens, like the eastern moon,
As day's wild lights decline.
Thus souls, by nature pitched too high,
By sufferings plunged too low,
Meet in the Church's middle sky,
Half way 'twixt joy and woe,
To practise there the soothing lay
That sorrow best relieves;
Thankful for all God takes away,
Humbled by all He glass.
poem by John Keble
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I Hear
(diana ross/stan scates)
What is this i hear
Falling softly in my ears
Quietly telling me to wipe away my tears
Yesterdays are gone
And love has cleared the way
No matter who you are
You can touch the stars
Life's interactions can make you smile
Just listen to the voice in your heart
The voice is near you, it's never too far
The voice is with you, where ever you are
It's closer than close, calling to your heart
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
The voice will never leave you
It lives deep down inside
It's calling you, asking you
To open up your heart
All things are achievable
Nothing is impossible
You can reach your highest high
You can make it if you try
Life's interactions can make you smile
Just listen to the voice in your heart
The voice is near you, it's never too far
The voice is with you, where ever you are
It's closer than close, calling to your heart
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
Follow where it leads you in the dark
The voice will guide your heart
The voice is always near
I hear the voice, i found the voice
From the mountains to the sea
The voice of love is calling me
Where ever you are, the voice is near you
It's never too far, the voice is with you
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
I hear the voice of love
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell
Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
O, beautiful, and full of grace!
If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face
Could fancied charms so far outvie.
If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory.
That voice, the magic of whose tone
Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,
Can make my tranced spirit blest.
That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
My memory would not cherish less; --
And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam
Nor mortal language can express.
Adieu, but let me cherish, still,
The hope with which I cannot part.
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
But still it lingers in my heart.
And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid the future pay the past
With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Quinquagesima Sunday
Sweet Dove! the softest, steadiest plume,
In all the sunbright sky,
Brightening in ever-changeful bloom
As breezes change on high; -
Sweet Leaf! the pledge of peace and mirth,
"Long sought, and lately won,"
Blessed increase of reviving Earth,
When first it felt the Sun; -
Sweet Rainbow! pride of summer days,
High set at Heaven's command,
Though into drear and dusky haze
Thou melt on either hand; -
Dear tokens of a pardoning God,
We hail ye, one and all,
As when our fathers walked abroad,
Freed from their twelvemonth's thrall.
How joyful from the imprisoning ark
On the green earth they spring!
Not blither, after showers, the lark
Mounts up with glistening wing.
So home-bound sailors spring to shore,
Two oceans safely past;
So happy souls, when life is o'er,
Plunge in this empyreal vast.
What wins their first and fondest gaze
In all the blissful field,
And keeps it through a thousand days?
Love face to face revealed:
Love imaged in that cordial look
Our Lord in Eden bends
On souls that sin and earth forsook
In time to die His friends.
And what most welcome and serene
Dawns on the Patriarch's eye,
In all the emerging hills so green,
In all the brightening sky?
What but the gentle rainbow's gleam,
Soothing the wearied sight,
That cannot bear the solar beam,
With soft undazzling light?
Lord, if our fathers turned to Thee
With such adoring gaze,
Wondering frail man Thy light should see
Without Thy scorching blaze;
Where is our love, and where our hearts,
We who have seen Thy Son,
Have tried Thy Spirit's winning arts,
And yet we are not won?
The Son of God in radiance beamed
Too bright for us to scan,
But we may face the rays that streamed
From the mild Son of Man.
There, parted into rainbow hues,
In sweet harmonious strife
We see celestial love diffuse
Its light o'er Jesus' life.
God, by His bow, vouchsafes to write
This truth in Heaven above:
As every lovely hue is Light,
So every grace is Love.
poem by John Keble
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My Love Letter To You
My dear sweet lover,
I am writing this letter from my heart;
Because i've been hunted by your love!
And i've been keeping it ever since i met you.
I can't sleep off my mind so easily,
And not even in my dreams! !
For the phenomenon of this love is a thing that touches me,
And your love is as ripen as the autumn fruit.
It concerns us all on this thing called love,
And every prerequisite intelligent brain wants this fruit;
So let our consciousness stimulate each other deeply!
For everyone requires love on this earth.
My proposal to you is like the vision of making love to this fruit,
And i really love you and i cannot hide it from you!
This is because your candle of love has been burning inside me,
For your love is as ripen as the autumn fruit.
How can i explain this mystery of your love? !
Thinking of how we will kiss each other in passion when the right time comes;
But your personified self can still do this miracle of a romance!
For i know that you also love me.
I am very crafty and i don't mind waiting for yur love,
Because your love is always the best of value;
And how nice it will be to savour the kernel of your sweet fruit,
But this is my love letter to you.
A passionate and a romantic love of million cheers wait for us,
And your sweet love is the most harmless document worth living for;
But this is my love letter to you my dear one,
And i shall testify to this love as long as i live.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sweet Inspiration
(j. cameron / k. prowse)
Ahh, yeah, baby
Just a-listen to me now
You may not bring me your love
But you bring me your
Sweet inspiration
Yeah, you do
Sweet new creation
Flows from my fingertips
Each time I kiss your lips
You may not give me your heart
But you give me such
Sweet thoughts and music
Please dont refuse it
All that I offer you
Is all thats due to
Someone who could make the stormy skies
Forever blue
Who can turn the snow to summer sun
The wake-up frost to morning dew
You may not bring me your love
But you bring me your sweet inspiration
Stay around a little while
Let me see you laugh
Let me see you smile
Turn me onto everything you might be
Oh, baby, to me
Sweet inspiration
Oh, yeah
Sweet inspiration, ooh
Mmmm
You may not realise everything you mean to me
Two children playing in the sun
Learning to be free
Oh, oh
You may not bring me your love
But you bring me your
Sweet thoughts and music
Come on
Please dont refuse it
All that offer you
Is all thats due to
Someone who could make the stormy skies
Forever blue
Who can turn the snow to summer sun
The wake-up frost to morning dew, oh, oh, oh, baby
You may not bring me your love
But you bring me your
Sweet inspiration
Yeah, you do
Sweet new creations
Fall from my fingertips
The time I kiss your lips
Sweet inspiration
Come on baby, cant you see now?
Come on baby, oh yes
Sweet inspiration
Give me your sweet inspiration
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In A Minute Autumn
an autumn isn't only
golden and yellow leaves,
heated in the summer
sweet fruits juices and honey.
an autumn, it still
a sore throat, tiring,
a fever, and influenza,
and shivers.
an autumn is waiting
for the winter
a spring
for the summer
on it
what the time will bring
what for us the fate
has in the gift
poem by Maria Barbara Korynt
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A Girl’s Day Dream And Its Fulfilment
“Child of my love, why wearest thou
That pensive look and thoughtful brow?
Can’st gaze abroad on this world so fair
And yet thy glance be fraught with care?
Roses still bloom in glowing dyes,
Sunshine still fills our summer skies,
Earth is still lovely, nature glad—
Why dost thou look so lone and sad?”
“Ah! mother it once sufficed thy child
To cherish a bird or flow’ret wild;
To see the moonbeams the waters kiss,
Was enough to fill her heart with bliss;
Or o’er the bright woodland stream to bow,
But these things may not suffice her now.”
“Perhaps ’tis music thou seekest, child?
Then list the notes of the song birds wild,
The gentle voice of the mountain breeze,
Whispering among the dark pine trees,
The surge sublime of the sounding main,
Or thy own loved lute’s soft silvery strain.”
“Mother, there’s music sweeter I know
Than bird’s soft note or than ocean’s flow,
Vague to me yet as sounds of a dream,
Yet dearer, brighter than sunshine’s gleam;
Such is the music I fain would hear,
All other sounds but tire mine ear!”
“Ah! thou seekest then a loving heart,
That in all thy griefs will bear a part,
That shelter will give in doubt and fear,
Come to me, loved one, thou’lt find it here!”
“Sweet mother, I almost fear to speak,
And remorseful blushes dye my cheek,
For though thou’st watched me from childhood’s hour,
As thou would’st have done a precious flower,
Though I love thee still as I did of yore,
Yet this weak heart seeketh something more:
A bliss as yet to my life unknown,
A heart whose throbs will be all mine own,
The tender tones of a cherished voice,
Of him who shall be my heart’s first choice;
And who at my feet alone shall bow,
This, this is the dream that haunts me now.”
“Alas, poor child, has it come to this?
Then bid farewell to thy childhood’s bliss,
To thy girlhood’s bright unfettered hours,
Thy sunny revels ’mid birds and flowers;
Of the golden zone yield up each strand
To cling to a hope, unstable as sand,
And forget the joys thy youth hath wove
In the stormy doubts of human love,
The feverish hopes and wearing pain
That form the links of Love’s bright chain!”
Alas! the mother spoke in vain!
The girl’s dream was soon fulfilled,
Her hopes by no dark cloud were chilled;
A lover ardent, noble too,
With flashing eyes of jetty hue,
With voice like music, sweet and soft,
Such as her dreams had pictured oft,
Now at her feet, a suppliant bowed,
And love eternal, changeless vowed.
Listening, then, with glowing cheek,
And rapture which no words might speak,
She thought, with bright and joyous smile,
They erred who thus could love revile,
Or say it had many a dark alloy,—
Had it not proved a dream of joy?
But, alas for her! she learned too soon
That love is fleeting as rose of June,
That her eyes might shine with olden light,
And yet be found no longer bright;
That she might devoted, faithful prove,
Yet her lover grow weary of her love.
Many an hour of silent tears,
Of heart-sick doubts, of humbling fears,
Of angry regrets, were hers, before
Her heart would say, “He loves no more.”
Weary of life and its thorny ways,
She sought the friend of her early days:
“Mother, I bring thee a breaking heart,
In sorrows deep it hath borne a part;
Speak to me tenderly as of yore,
Let thy kiss rest on my brow once more;
To the joys of my girlhood back I flee,
To live alone for them and for thee!”
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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To Her Whose Name
To her whose name,
With its sweet sibilant sound like sudden showers
Splashing the grass and flowers,
Hath set my April heart aflame;
To her whose face,
The flower and crown of all created things,
Dearer than even Spring's,
Hath been to me a sacrament of grace;
Whose luminous mind,
Stored with all gladness of the earth and sky,
Hath lightened my sad eye
And made it wise in love which erst was blind;
Whose voice of pleasure,
Calling to joys as a blithe wedding bell
When ringers ring it well,
Hath tuned my soul to its own happy measure;
Whose blessed hand,
With its white mystery of fingers five,
Each one a soul alive,
Hath taught me truths no angels understand;
Whose arms within,
Should she once clasp me to her very heart,
God knoweth we should not part
But live for aye in Heaven's own bliss divine;
To her, alas,
Who is so near, yet standeth still so far,
Seeing the mortal bar
Betwixt us ever which we cannot pass,
These lines I send
With my heart's tears to--night beseeching her,
Of her dear love more dear,
To be no less to me my sweetest soul and friend.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Lucy’s Birthday
Seventeen rosebuds in a ring,
Thick with sister flowers beset,
In a fragrant coronet,
Lucy's servants this day bring.
Be it the birthday wreath she wears
Fresh and fair, and symbolling
The young number of her years,
The sweet blushes of her spring.
Types of youth and love and hope!
Friendly hearts your mistress greet,
Be you ever fair and sweet,
And grow lovelier as you ope!
Gentle nursling, fenced about
With fond care, and guarded so,
Scarce you've heard of storms without,
Frosts that bite or winds that blow!
Kindly has your life begun,
And we pray that heaven may send
To our floweret a warm sun,
A calm summer, a sweet end.
And where'er shall be her home,
May she decorate the place;
Still expanding into bloom,
And developing in grace.
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Dear little Darling
I don't have any kids but someday when i do i would like to say this one for them on there wedding day.
Dear little darling,
My sweet little child
I woke up this morning
With a thought in my head
I love you a lot
My dear sweet child
I love you so much
I made a poem,
Just for you sweet child
I want to see you grow,
I want to see you blossom,
I want to sing you lullabies,
I want to whisper soft words,
You make me smile
You make me laugh
You also make me cry,
I cry because I am happy
Happy to see you,
Happy to see you grow
I am filled with joy to see you every day
I am glad you are my child;
I know this poem doesn’t rhyme,
It doesn’t have to
You are what the poem is about,
I watched you grow,
I watched you blossom,
I sang sweet lullabies,
I whispered soft words,
And now its time for me to say goodbye;
You are my life, my gift from heaven
Although you are grown up
And it’s your wedding day
A day of happiness
A new chapter in your life,
But just remember this
You will always, be my sweet child.
April
April, pride of woodland ways,
Of glad days,
April, bringing hope of prime,
To the young flowers that beneath
Their bud sheath
Are guarded in their tender time;
April, pride of fields that be
Green and free,
That in fashion glad and gay,
Stud with flowers red and blue,
Every hue,
Their jewelled spring array;
April, pride of murmuring
Winds of spring,
That beneath the winnowed air,
Trap with subtle nets and sweet
Flora’s feet,
Flora’s feet, the fleet and fair;
April, by thy hand caressed,
From her breast
Nature scatters everywhere
Handfuls of all sweet perfumes,
Buds and blooms,
Making faint the earth and air.
April, joy of the green hours,
Clothes with flowers
Over all her locks of gold
My sweet Lady; and her breast
With the blest
Birds of summer manifold.
April, with thy gracious wiles,
Like the smiles,
Smiles of Venus; and thy breath
Like her breath, the Gods’ delight,
(From their height
They take the happy air beneath)
It is thou that, of thy grace,
From their place
In the far-oft isles dost bring
Swallows over earth and sea,
Glad to be
Messengers of thee, and Spring.
Daffodil and eglantine,
And woodbine,
Lily, violet, and rose
Plentiful in April fair,
To the air,
Their pretty petals do unclose.
Nightingales ye now may hear,
Piercing clear,
Singing in the deepest shade;
Many and many a babbled note
Chime and float,
Woodland music through the glade.
April, all to welcome thee,
Spring sets free
Ancient flames, and with low breath
Wakes the ashes grey and old
That the cold
Chilled within our hearts to death.
Thou beholdest in the warm
Hours, the swarm
Of the thievish bees, that flies
Evermore from bloom to bloom
For perfume,
Hid away in tiny thighs.
Her cool shadows May can boast,
Fruits almost
Ripe, and gifts of fertile dew,
Manna-sweet and honey-sweet,
That complete
Her flower garland fresh and new.
Nay, but I will give my praise,
To these days,
Named with the glad name of Her
That from out the foam o’ the sea
Came to be
Sudden light on earth and air.
poem by Remy Belleau
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To His Lady
(Who asked a Song in Spring)
WHY do you bid your poet sing,
Who has no mind to song--
Who only wants to see the Spring,
Long sought and tarrying long?
The shivering, dreary winter through
My song enshrined my vow;
If then my songs were sweet to you,
Let me be silent now!
Have I not duly sung, my dear,
Your goodness and your grace?
Now that your rival, Spring, is here,
O let me see her face!
The hedge is white with buds of May,
The fields are green with Spring,
Oh, give your bard a holiday:
He does not want to sing!
He wants to listen; all alone,
He wants to steal away
To hear the ring-doves' tender tone,
And what the thrushes say.
He wants to hear what can't be heard
When you and love are near--
The sweet Spring's soft and secret word;
Oh, let him go, my dear!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Sunshine Eyes
Sunshine Eyes
Inside her mind so rapid and kind. A grace and innocence long ago feared to be lost. In her embrace you still can find.
Revealed again and running wild. Inside of her it lives and breathes. Inside of her it thrives.
Sunshine eyes that rise with her smile, irradiate her laughing face.
Oh tiny one with eyes as brilliant as the sun. She overflows your emptiness. Carrying with her all of your hopes and promise for the days to come.
And when this world sears with endless hatred and crushing fears. Just listen for her whispers soft, those simple wisdoms in your ears. That tiny voice will steal your heart, she’s everything that you hold dear, your troubles fade and fall away, carry no weight when she is near. And with a smile she dries away the rising flooding of your tears.
Sunshine eyes that rise and shine, encourage me to keep the faith.
This musical child electric and wild while all around her love resides.
Excitement running she comes to you with endless energy in her tiny strides
And all at once a flash of light as every form of joy collides
I love you too. This blessed child so soft and sweet she does confide.
Sunshine eyes that burn so bright illuminate this darkened place. If not for you then for the souls that find their strength somewhere within your sunshine gaze.
Sunshine eyes of hope and light may your eyes shine on endless days. And like your eyes may your heart and soul with happiness forever blaze. And light the way for all of those that share your joy and witness all your sunshine ways.
(For my niece Lilly)
poem by Marcel Tourdot
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Death’s Chill Between
Chide not; let me breathe a little,
For I shall not mourn him long;
Though the life-cord was so brittle,
The love-cord was very strong.
I would wake a little space
Till I find a sleeping-place.
You can go,—I shall not weep;
You can go unto your rest.
My heart-ache is all too deep,
And too sore my throbbing breast.
Can sobs be, or angry tears,
Where are neither hopes nor fears?
Though with you I am alone
And must be so everywhere,
I will make no useless moan,—
None shall say 'She could not bear:'
While life lasts I will be strong,—
But I shall not struggle long.
Listen, listen! Everywhere
A low voice is calling me,
And a step is on the stair,
And one comes ye do not see,
Listen, listen! Evermore
A dim hand knocks at the door.
Hear me; he is come again,—
My own dearest is come back.
Bring him in from the cold rain;
Bring wine, and let nothing lack.
Thou and I will rest together,
Love, until the sunny weather.
I will shelter thee from harm,—
Hide thee from all heaviness.
Come to me, and keep thee warm
By my side in quietness.
I will lull thee to thy sleep
With sweet songs:—we will not weep.
Who hath talked of weeping?—Yet
There is something at my heart,
Gnawing, I would fain forget,
And an aching and a smart.
—Ah! my mother, 'tis in vain,
For he is not come again.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile,
All the livelong night beguile.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are his own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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That Voice Again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
Im listening to the conversation
Judge and jury in my head
Its colouring everything
All we did and said
And still I head that sharp tongue talking
Talking tangled words
I can sense the danger
Just listen to the wind
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
Hear that voice again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
Im hearing right and wrong so clearly
There must be more than this
Its only in uncertainty
That were naked and alive
I hear it through the rattle of a streetcar
Hear it through the things you said
I can get so scared
Listen to the wind
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
Hear that voice again
What I carry in my heart
Brings us so close or so far apart
Only love can make love
I want you close I want you near
I cant help but listen
But I dont want to hear
I hear that voice again
I want to be with you
I want to be clear
But each time I try
Its the voice I hear
I hear that voice again
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good morning Sunshine
Good morning sunshine
Sweet loving light
Held in the darkness
Throughout the night
Hello sweet love
That brightens my days
With the smiles you share
And your sweet precious ways
Deep mysterious eyes
That truly amaze
The depth of passion
A heartfelt gaze
Sweet loving arms
That hold so tight
Bring warmth of love
Throughout the night
Good morning sunshine
So glad you are here
You bring such warmth
A heart so dear
Through out this day
I am thinking of you
Sweet loving thoughts
A love so true
With a simple embrace
And a soft gentle kiss
Our day lives on
Sweet loving bliss
poem by William Lindenmuth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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