nothing so crude as these words on the page nothing so uncrafted as the clarity of me in her eye nothing more natural than her comforts she fashions at the end of my day she is still golden at the height of the arch of her young song still able write her path but she remains here for our summer day
my mind lying like a black and white photograph lost to the ages within her words of the day nothing more beautiful than the truth of her embrace thin fabric of her dress expresses the warmth of her skin without losing the demure of her innocence
I wait here in the shade as she plays in the sunlight a song only her heart can know plays idle my fingers spin romance carefully wrought in silver and jade cold metal reflecting brightly smooth stone hard to warm but as it lay in the sun it becomes
nothing so uncrafted as the clarity of me in her eye nothing so bold as her rushing to my arms