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.
Her beauty is the end of my dreams The shore on which my journeys end. To think that this filial faith Would deliver a golden gleam, God...