Crimson was the color of the dress you wore,
the night we danced, out on the square;
the moon was glowing in the sky,
the breeze caressed your auburn hair.
We circled round the monument,
to the music that was playing;
to the music of our own we heard,
magic that our hearts were weighing.
To enchantment in your eyes,
to the tender touch of cheek;
to the bond of our embrace,
to what all lovers seek.
We were dancing in a crowd,
but we felt, we were alone;
the moon, the night, the stars,
so high above us...shone.
Crimson was the color of the dress you wore,
the night we had but love to share;
the moon-glow settled on your face,
and the wind was ruffling up your hair.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Memories of an evening dancing with your loved one in your arms unfold in this sweet love poem. A crimson dress, and the wind ruffling her hair - just simple things, yet so significant and impossible to forget because of the love you share. Very nice, Dave.