Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Infatuated by her fragrance...
And the apples of her cheeks
She drew him in as a moth to a flame;
In a garden-where only lovers arms embrace;
Near a pond-where mirrored bodies reflect;
Entwined in the emerald tendrils of grass
Only the breeze knows of their splendor;
Summer is like a never ending fire-you know...
Where reckless abandon-never sleeps
But stirs-wide awake-as the summer sun at high noon;
By: Theodora Onken
Dedicated to love and lovers everywhere.