Friday, 20 April 2012

Swing me soft

She is still a monumental beauty
 a transfixed image sealed in the field of my memory.
I venture there often to play and watch. 
 This cool evening 
She was by the swing possessing a pale face. 
I watched her dwell in sadness for a time till she realised
 a dear friend was watching her poor countenance. 
 She called out, my lover, my lover.
  come here and swing me soft.
 Allow a movement into my still state.
I drew near 
unable to resist her call
 for she charms my soul 
whatever theme it may be. 


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