If I could ride a white stallion,
wearing burnished armour of gold.
I would cross the high mountains
for my eyes on your smile to behold.
Across land scorched by suns fire,
droughts parched burning sand,
all this I could defeat and endure,
for a mere touch from your hand.
You have me captivated, enthralled
by means of your charm and your grace.
Entranced and passively subdued,
by beauties smile on your face.
How sad has become this world.
where poetry for a beauty is not news.
I behold the wonder and the beauty,
of my goddess, my passions true muse.
Mar 16, 2022
Mar 16, 2022 at 11:55 AM UTC
If I could ride a white stallion,
wearing burnished armour of gold.
I would cross the high mountains
for my eyes on your smile to behold.
Across land scorched by suns fire,
droughts parched burning sand,
all this I could defeat and endure,
for a mere touch from your hand.
You have me captivated, enthralled
by means of your charm and your grace.
Entranced and passively subdued,
by beauties smile on your face.
How sad has become this world.
where poetry for a beauty is not news.
I behold the wonder and the beauty,
of my goddess, my passions true muse.
How daft a man can be made when a beauty looks his way.
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