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