Leah walks down the dormitory hall
in white socks, blue jeans, t-shirt: and her eyes,
black and beautiful, keep me in their thrall.
It is my twenty-first autumn. Dead leaves fall
to the dark earth. And this poor sinner cries
for joy when Leah passes through the hall!
Soon December's winds will bite and brawl;
but her kind face outshines the glowering skies.
So beautiful. I am her helpless thrall.
She’s fairly slender. Not extremely tall.
Wholly composed of sunlight. Sadness dies
each time sweet Leah passes through the hall!
She is my health and hope. She is my all!
Her voice (that perfect and divine surprise,
Black and beautiful) has me in its thrall.
Reader, forgive my feeble-witted scrawl:
my soul, bowed down in homage, dares not rise!
Black and beautiful, Leah walks the hall,
and keeps this foolish poet in her thrall.
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
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Written on 2017-11-19 at 06:54
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