A Poem In Paradise
She does not see him gazing at her there
Immersed in lines of splendor, quite divine
To him it seems she is an angel fair
Her flowing robes caress a figure fine
Pressed to her bosom is a blossom sweet
The fragrance is to him what she exudes
Upon her face the flush of midday heat
No longer can he wait, so he intrudes
“Pray tell me what it be that you peruse
That hides from me the light of angel eyes?
What makes your cheeks so rosy, my dear muse?”
He asks and hopes his love she’ll not chastise
And paradise is his with her reply
“I read of you and now you have come by.”
For Isaiah Zerbst's Contest
A Poem in Paradise
July 14, 2014
Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014
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