OF SHE WHOM I LOVE
Her hair is softly curly, wavy, black and long;
Her gazes are of wine, and of a sailor's song.
She prays to the Virgin, in the courtyard of the church,
And petitions eternal love, before a shrine below the birch.
She praises what is holy; she is faithful and secure.
Of lovely things she muses on; she is humble in her dress.
She awaits a man of virtue; she dreams of his caress,
As she walks among the statues; her thoughts are sacred- pure.
Her countenance is doubly fair;
It is of an angelic, pristine white;
She hides from the world, with a regal air.
Her heart and mind are filled with vespers of delight.
She keeps to herself; she is sparing in speech.
Her scent is of a queen, and of the blossoming peach.
John Lars Zwerenz
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A woman of virtue is a man's highest glory. He who has found her is blessed with a rare gem. A very nice poem written with insight. Lovely. Please read my poem MANDELA - THE IMMORTAL ICON.