She sitting on the white bed
on her black skirt knee length
resting her guitar,
her back to the window long
was singing a mexican song...
oblivious of the sun of the dawn
peeping through the white curtain
falling on her hair...her hands...
how soft orange hue did land
on her shoulders...perfecting a shadow
falling on his sleepy face...
his side profile on pillow...
calmed...innocent... must be in a dream
yellowish light like a cream
putting moisture of love and care...
as she strummed her morning lyre...
That single white rose in the vase...
dipped in water...a transparent glassy case...
must also have felt the song in her petals...
for she opened up slow getting the pulse
and the verve of the morning serenade
She the room to happy love led...
Sunday, November 11, 2012
she...her song...the morn...and love...
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