Whence by thy grace do I hear thy steps
Coming to me as if slowly making waves
How do I see how even in winter
Seasons of fruitfulness arrive ripe ,
As if thou hath come from thy bower
Bearing crabapples red and flowers
Names of which never I tried to remember
Pansies, peonies, lilies and more
O how thy beauty bring all at my door,
And I look at thee, like an angel perhaps
In blue blue dress so wonderous
Thy hair falling over thy shoulder
Cascading like a beautiful river,
At that moment I just think
Art thou that form of Love
Which brings to poor me
Happiness from above?
Art thou that form angelic
That giveth rise to poetic magic?
And I just keep on writing true
Thy splendour, erupting in me with pied hue.
No comments:
Post a Comment