• lonely_potato 4w

    A sketch of an innocent one

    Her eyes have spring,
    Swimming in splendid candour
    In their depths.
    Her voice is the warm whisper
    That the whimsical breeze leaves
    In my ear in spring's valleys.
    Her touch is embracing summer.

    The pink and the red,
    And a hint of golden sun
    Are a shimmering fresh paint
    'Pon the canvas of her soul
    Freshly woven in the sanctum
    Where the wholesome,
    The angelic,
    And the frollicksome
    Truly dwell beyond the lore.
    A pallisade of colours,
    An innocent garden for the spring-children.

    Her conviction,
    Her authority over me;
    As if she holds
    My heart-strings.
    Like she fiddles them in her leisure
    When she plays with her hair
    And puts on her sea-shell trinkets
    Along her curled hair
    Blowing the woodland's smell
    Out onto the flowered grasses.

    With careless glee, dancing
    Around a fire lit;
    Eyes excited in joyousness
    For the red warm that flickers;
    In some flatland in blossom
    In mother Earth's bossom,
    Naked like the beasts;
    She has not yet been trampled,
    By the million anonymous feet
    That stampede across and around
    Man's greatest feats.
    She's untouched by rusty deserts,
    Kissed only by sombre moon;
    Yet she smiles livelier for my little good.

    A wreath of jasmines I made
    To tie 'round her graceful neck,
    But she'd rather have the sober leaves,
    And the water flowing eternally
    Sown into a magic brace.
    But I'll string her these whites
    And some leisurely pinks
    And a blushful red
    With the green ferns.
    I know her wild heart.

    She's a fine dew
    Laid onto vast fields.
    And she's the pioneering dove
    Stretching her wings
    In that hazy heaven
    Drawn by a true artist.
    She's the breeze that wafts away
    Dawn and beckons morn,
    She's all the skies ever
    Formed upon all the dew-drops
    Ever hatched by brook-edges;
    She's every happy thought
    Ever thought,
    She's all pleasant things
    Ever born.

    ©lonely_potato