Friday, April 10, 2009

A perfect rose

rows in a field of gold -

Her hair swept warmly by the prairie’s wind
as like the waves of grain glistening silently around her.
Yet can it no more hide the storm in her eyes
than I the brewing of love’s tempest
- Which stirs in my heart.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

1 comment:

callulabright said...

Gorgeous. I wish I were that girl in the field.