Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2010
Waiting with Spanish guitars. 
Why do I sit here?
You stamp on me so,
and still I wait.
Am I a fool?
Perhaps.
It wasn't much to ask,
was it? 
For you to come to me?
Spanish guitars,
would have made it so romantic,
but it wasn't to be.
Fairwell my princess,
as I make my way,
to our Roman Bridge.
Written by
Golden Ratio
1.4k
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems