Forgetting Christine
Forgetting Christine
As a thorn would pierce the skin
And bury there, deep within
Childish was my love for her
Caught was I upon that spur
Was it but, her air of grace
Or that she was fair of face
Beauty with a sense of plain
Earthly built in every grain
As she passed the flowers dim
Grew brighter round her every rim
Their blooms alone to signify
An angel there was walking by
Her rebel spirit could not hide
The joy she brings upon her tide
A crest of wistful whisperings
From deep imagination springs
Still she lives there in my muse
Pouring thoughts, that refuse
To let her go from every scene
I’ll not forget my sweet Christine
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