THE MOTHER OF ALL LOVE POEMS 2
Tis where the world begins and ends,
where all the joy of life transcends,
the mountaintop, highest of highs,
just being here betwixt your thighs.
Tis where a man would die to be,
or sell his throne, just but to see,
fountain of youth, the Holy Grail,
and made for only one to nail.
Tis certainly a pot of gold,
tho some might wear out when it's old,
and makes the beggar man, who begs,
for just one night between these legs.
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet