She speaks to me in riddled rhyme,
Melodic verse, and metered line.
Voice so pure, as if not spoken
Only thought, timing unbroken.
I hold her dear, a mystery
As I love none, not even me.
Her beauty, beyond perfection,
Her love, my only obsession.
Would I give that which she gives me,
I would my soul, so that she could be.
For she is my sun, my sky, my trees,
She is my only love, my lady...
Dec 16, 2014
Dec 16, 2014 at 9:07 AM UTC
She speaks to me in riddled rhyme,
Melodic verse, and metered line.
Voice so pure, as if not spoken
Only thought, timing unbroken.
I hold her dear, a mystery
As I love none, not even me.
Her beauty, beyond perfection,
Her love, my only obsession.
Would I give that which she gives me,
I would my soul, so that she could be.
For she is my sun, my sky, my trees,
She is my only love, my lady...
