Her Poetry
in all it's utter wonderment
i under imaginary pretence
a nocturnal creature stalking images
of the one my readings have made
but prosperity is her blessing
and princess clothings are her dressings
making her far above poor me
my prayer was for conformanity
but so far it was for naught
constant prayers God forgot
yet tis me who this misery
is brought
the times for her i've often sought
i stare in the distance at her walk
the nonchalant way she waves her hands
walking pretending to lead
a parade and band
spreading a happiness so contagious
it brighten the hopes
of a certian man
at time's i walk near her
for an innocent parle
praying that my pulsating heart
does'nt give me away
Dr. Cupid recomends
one dose a day
the eyes that let you see the soul
the lips that could never ever grow cold
of the rhythem and tenderness
of her voice
a representation of God's annointed choice
giving to man a gift of love
for we all share her
with eyes and ears
back to the parle
"How are you today?"
"Fine."
"It's a beautiful day."
"This dreary rainy day?"
"Yeah, I love rainy weather."
truth is there was no weather
as far as i was concerned
my only concern
"is Sandra there?"
"was Alexandra going to be there?"
i've been lot's of places
thinking she'd be there
saddened to find out
she was not
in all it's utter wonderment
and my imaginary pretence
a peasant loving a princess
at best
eyes and imagination
secretly blessed
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