Woman
To look into the eyes of lovely itself,
and dream a thousand days of her smile,
and call the millenium barren without her,
tall, plush walk.....
strides in the naked night....
Moons waiting to delight, the fluff-fluttered
silk of her waxen wings;
a million suns could not melt....
But her hero upon the hill,
and make sweet surrender her arms;
and wanting her touch to love,
in a midnight grove,
stroll the lush orchard,
with flowers in her hand.....
To music at home,
dancing into bedrooms....
and dreamy little love lands....
For all the mysteries of a woman
in her hand,
(she held)
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
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