My Love
On the mountain tops will I scream her name,
A choir of birds will I give her praise to sing,
I will let the winds carry far her fame,
Her beauty will I compare to the daffodils in spring,
My love, dark as chocolate, yet lovely.
Her hair, long and silky like fine cords in Solomon’s temple,
Her smell, irresistible like a garden of roses in Sicily,
Oh, her voice, smooth like running waters o’er a pebble,
In her eyes live the brightest stars,
Her smile defeats a million radars,
The chambers of her heart are made of pure gold,
And out of it great treasures unfold.
Her love is my song that never stops playing,
Her love is my river that never stops flowing.
Copyright © Micheal Jenkin | Year Posted 2010
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