The Wisp Of Dark Hair by M.A.Meddings
The wisp of dark hair,
That has not a care,
For red satin ribbons,and lace.
Whilst in damnation ire,
It serves to conspire,
To gently caress your face.
And yet, with what style,
It doth softly beguile,
This fragile and trembling heart,
Such beautiful eyes, that sparkle and shine,
As you, ignore me and take me apart.
Unaware, I exist
Nor cannot resist,
Coolly disdainful of me,
And your soft freckled face,
In the end will embrace,
The Enraptured, haunting of me.
Poetry by lastromantichero
Read 642 times
Written on 2006-10-13 at 17:35
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