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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required When she was just fifteen… She was but a child But a sweet teen She was kind of wild Full of desire Excited about love In the ivory palaces of her mind Which rose a white dove: With a fury Flawless in a never changing World ... She was just fifteen…. When she was twenty one She was an adult Unfolding splendor in the shades of heaven Which she bought To place a kiss that multiplied seven With her sweet rapture With beauty that glistens With every rainbow That played in with a light that shines Looking for love Like a delicate flower With a heart of amorous whispers So pleasing to her design She was but twenty one…. When she was just thirty two She had children Her lovely face never hidden With simple stories of heaven With letters of praise But still looking for love Where love burns brilliantly But all in the wrong places Where the fullness of sweetness Surrounds her with such wonders She was but thirty two When she was just forty five She was abounding in glory With hands holding But she couldn’t say the words With the sun bulging Pulsating in her throat Nothing could escape her sweet star The word is love but still looking With sweet air that turns Mournful into light rain Of her mind She was just forty five... When she was just fifty Heaven was just beyond her door Looking in the mirror Where she didn’t know anymore She thought she found love In the winds of her chariot But he went away Her passion the most mindful of her soul With grace and beauty in its divine power She was just fifty... When she was fifty five The winds of time On a hot summer night Then she saw the light And that Took away the right Of sweet love she thought Where a scared space of the world Let go and she sought She was only fifty five... When she was just sixty years old She had lost love It was not always so A star she couldn’t resist And found love Her love was earth rising With the most remarkable being With a noble soul Of denying love to be Sought a different oblivion Now all that remain are memories Drowning the already dead She was just sixty Sweet letters of her soul from the beginning to the end; her lovely face never ending: With scared looks and noble gesture her eyes were inflamed with the sun, basting in the glory of night. Reaching for the one that she truly loves: DIFFERENT AGES AND HER DIFFERENT LOVES Brooke Dyan 2014
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