Where the city kisses sky,
And the wind hugs the trees,
Your image is held holy,
And remembered in my mind.
And when the oceans waves sing out,
With the rocks on which they pound,
It compares not to your voice,
So divine is that pure sound.
No feeling can compare,
To the thrills that you supply,
When you simply use your hand,
To gently hold mine.
Jan 25, 2013
Jan 25, 2013 at 8:43 PM UTC
Where the city kisses sky,
And the wind hugs the trees,
Your image is held holy,
And remembered in my mind.
And when the oceans waves sing out,
With the rocks on which they pound,
It compares not to your voice,
So divine is that pure sound.
No feeling can compare,
To the thrills that you supply,
When you simply use your hand,
To gently hold mine.
