I see you sit upon a brook side lush
Between some thick and lovely brush,
And neatly tuck a stem behind your ear
What else are you hiding that I might fear?
You said you saw him last night in your head
Head, bed, I only hope it wasn't bed.

Eyes that strike me like a winter sunrise,
Shine into mine and catch me by surprise.
I fear a women with a cunning lie
A girl that might tell me what but not why.

Your hair shines deep like brushed and careful strokes.
The ones that took a year to cut and coax
Into a portrait framed with darkened hues.
But you don't have a cunning lie. Do you?
There, a subtle truth behind your words.
A tough of tenderness, but I'm still on guard.

One hand outstretched you call me closer,
Your smile, A curl that strikes a perfect fifth.
The kind that queues the brass and sends the room
Into a symphony composed for you.
You give me signs that I should hope for more,
So somehow, I commit myself for what's in store.