As she is a rainbow –
Of scented sound sweet of oboes,
even as her touch speaks blue as the moon.
Yet her sway which is golden as autumn
that the owls enchanted croon of ocher and umber.
Might the wind comb her hair with song
her eyes still caress the trumpet of my stare,
for it is only her heart’s chord which I hear playing
as its silver strings ring silken she sings
“Hold me now or hold me never
and I shall be yours
- Forever.”
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008
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