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