who she is to me,
she is butterfly, rare and free,
landing on flowers and weaving paths,
only she can see.
what she is to me,
she is a Spanish guitar,
tuned and played perfectly.
when she is to me,
available, even for a few seconds
each day I hold them in my heart,
in my mind, looking for the soil,
and willing to toil, to let that time
grow on me.
where she is to me,
she is nearly so far away,
that even in my dreams, she is a blur.
why she is to me,
so important see, it is like this,
she is the image of poetry in
motion as she danced,
across the tips of waves on the ocean.
how she will meet me,
I don't know, it is not with regret,
but a peaceful place in my chaotic
life that I hold the thought of her,
for I have not met her yet,
but one day I will,
if she wills it so.
©ClemC032014
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
who she is to me,
she is butterfly, rare and free,
landing on flowers and weaving paths,
only she can see.
what she is to me,
she is a Spanish guitar,
tuned and played perfectly.
when she is to me,
available, even for a few seconds
each day I hold them in my heart,
in my mind, looking for the soil,
and willing to toil, to let that time
grow on me.
where she is to me,
she is nearly so far away,
that even in my dreams, she is a blur.
why she is to me,
so important see, it is like this,
she is the image of poetry in
motion as she danced,
across the tips of waves on the ocean.
how she will meet me,
I don't know, it is not with regret,
but a peaceful place in my chaotic
life that I hold the thought of her,
for I have not met her yet,
but one day I will,
if she wills it so.
©ClemC032014
