Bronze skin
drenched by the light
of the Portugal sun
Lines and countours
slowly shape a man
in his glorious splendour

youth and beauty
chiseled with fire
morning wonders
in the depth of his eyes
Speak they of golden
sensual tales
as their brown color
eagerly traverse the
waiting blue horizons

birds sing their songs
and trees sway in a dance
wild flowers loudly declare
the poetry of his form

Son of the Portugal sun
disperse all our woes
bring laughter sans tears
Ruler of love and
Conqueror of hearts
bathe us in seas
of quiet tranquility
and mesmerize into slumber
the moon up on high

A question within a question
a mystery unfolds
No answer forthcoming
no soul to be sold
to gods and to mortals
to nature and to space
a nest for all sweetness
in the palm of his hand

To share but a moment
in his arms softly lay
is to touch the shimmering light
of the bold Portugal sun!