She
She is the roar of the pounding sea,
she is the wind as it rustles the trees.
She is the glow of the moon as it creeps over the hill,
she is the silence, when all is dark, and still.
She is the warmth of a drink of red wine,
she is the scent of the flowers, on a clinging vine.
She is the lightning as it streaks across the sky,
she is the call of an eagle as it circles on high.
She is the rays of the morning sun,
she is women,
she is the one.
Copyright © 38 Tango | Year Posted 2008
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