Friday, November 20, 2009

On Love

Sitting with me under a tree
Near a field of Rye.
Her pretty eyes looked at me,
Was she about to cry?

Those lovely lips, a warm sigh
And then I smelt her breath.
Godliness, I felt for sure;
Days away from death.

That day with her, the beautiful her
Just the perfect bliss.
And all I thought of, as I died
Was her parting kiss.