The Sight Of Your Beauty Poem by Heather Schroer
The Sight Of Your Beauty
The sight of you beauty,
through my own pitied eyes,
makes me cry.
The touch of your perfect body,
next to the worthlessness of mind,
makes me quiver.
The thought of you
pulsing through my otherwise empty mind,
makes me shatter.
And this thought,
raging out over every thing:
I am glad to call you mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/18/2024 4:38:33 AM # 1.0.0.1119
