Somewhere on a mountain high,
there was a vision sweeping by,
Flowing hair, whistling as she flew.
Piercing eyes scuttling me right through.
She spoke in whispers devoid of all lament.
Only sweet nothings yet sincerely meant.
She let me know that she was there.
In all her glory, how did I fare.
I fell in love with the song she spoke.
Never forget, I said bespoke.
What I mean is simple see,
yet only to us, you and me.
My heart will soar and when it does,
it will embrace the essence of your broth.
Amazing though fate will seem,
put through strife and all latrine.
There will never be a single moment,
when I forget you are the deemed.
Copyright © Dougie Sargent