May that it be the emerald of your eyes.
A shimmering of hope beyond cloudless scope
‘tis my fortune in beautiful
Thus is the soul of summer -
As your smile is the beacon your heart.
The beckoning reflection of love and affection
as its warmth fills my cups
As autumn falls in your hair -
Tresses of ocher and tendrils of umber
that your garden golden is a harvest beholden
as I lie in your leaves bed of
Then soft is your winter song –
Unfurling gently from skies of porcelain.
Caressing and petite laying kisses ‘pon my cheek
that I am all a blush of tender despair
as to when I may hold you
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2005