Untouched Poem by Infenity Covett

They'd meet at dusk above the city,
above the filth, above the wrath,
two gallant souls among the greedy,
so close as if they had one heart.
No tree would bend to bar their way,
no bird would interfere their chat,
and wind would never whirl the hay,
that hid beneath her velvet hat.
And so they walked and talked for ages,
but never crossed the lustful line,
as if they knew that passion phases,
would break all deep emotion's spine.
But years passed and winds got colder,
and bones and brains became worn out,
and both of them were getting older,
though in possession of a never aging heart.
And that's the way Death took the one -
he never touched her hair of hay,
and she - for aye the unbelieving one,
with teary eyes sat down to pray.
The only way she'd ever touch him,
except when she's in Land of Nod,
her pressing prayer, so gently ailing -
upon her eyes the hand of God.