Its Place

sentimentality has its place it's in my heart, it's on your face in an edict of government, for a hungry child in the middle of nowhere, all windy and wild it's in scraped skies over citied tall buildings it's on the Louvre's walls surrounded by gilding it's buzzing the field of breeze-blown wheat at the photo-finish of a horserace dead heat it lies with the dog quietly resting by the door the cat's contented purr, the babies quiet snore it's in the oven, warming with scents it's under the tree, wrapped in presents it's written in stories we've all known for years it's in people you know in your daily spheres it's right here, on this screen that you're reading it's after, and now, and time since proceeding it's in her hair, with its satin-soft sheen her coy smile at you, if you know what I mean it's in his brash boast with eased confidence to do something of import with good consequence it's kissing your lips, warm and alluring it's filling your heart and quietly assuring it's sunning itself, on sweating work days it's enjoying each other in so many ways it's in the glint of light shown on my eyes, to this life lived full, and what it implies © Goode Guy 2011-11-13