Bliss, I Think

Grand declarations of love, Afternoon tea; Hidden bookshops in the crevice of a pretty avenue, And begonias in hanging baskets. Walks along cobbled streets; Walks in the moonlight, Sunday nights- With the stars reflecting on the surface of a beautifully unblemished lake; The soft rustle of the trees as a soft summer breeze dances through the leaves, The sounds of the city drifting to sleep in our wake. Your hand in mine. Bliss, I think.