Autumn eyes stare out at me, Silky locks of burnished brown, Poise, elegance and aristocracy, Statuesque, splendor, and magnificence, All words pale, All words fail, To bind the beautiful Cambria Beauty be not lonely, Virtue is her friend, Gentle, sweet, with wits abound, Her voice so sweet, has songbird sound, Yet the Lexicon pales, The language fails, To bespeak beguiling Cambria. Id cross not mountains for her, Id move them one by one. Id walk not burning sands, Instead Id seed her lands. Her world would fill with statues, And gardens at her feet. These things I say would happen, Each time we came to meet. She makes a man become a man, Makes him strive for more. She makes him wish for worthiness, Remake his very core. Thus I pay my homage, Poetic tribute not mere prose. I give to her this piece of me, And not some dying rose.
Posted on: Sun, 06 Jul 2014 23:30:01 +0000
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