Loving you, is as unreachable, as traveling,

Back to the past one hundred years,

Standing here alone,
I see a painting of a glamorous,
Woman, in a white dress,

Singing on a brightly lit stage, under a,
Rainstorm of white and red,
Roses,

I am wondering what you were thinking,

That day?

That day, one hundred years in the past,
The world fell in love with a beautiful Angel

And her voice?

Copyright © 2015 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.