Love is not a many splendored thing; it is a cot, a comfy suspended ring upon which we dream for wishes granted. In the privacy of imagination we envision prince charming and fair maiden, in their unchanging quest for happy ever after. If gods do bless we'll meet a vision in the flesh and hearts will mesh with a taste of promise, as her daydream meets his fantasy and love erupts.
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Be the first to comment on this poem. Encourage this poet.