 | Eyes that burn make night turn day, lips that make the ice give way. A face that shines like morning dew; As it glisten upon the earth so new.
A woman of wit, a lady of style; passion brings burring desire. Oh if thee were near dear lady of grace, thy heart I would seek from this distant place. Thou vision doust shine in my inner eye, and your smile sweet maiden can make the angels cry Hair black as raven, voice like Solomon’s Gold, wish I could sit with thee and let the hours unfold…
Written by Alan H Goldsmith
Submitted by Alan H Goldsmith |  |