The Woodland Nymph Poem by Seraphine Belle

She sat under the willow,
Waiting for him.
Her blonde hair
Rolling with the winds
Tickling her cheeks

Thoughts drifted in her head
One by one,
As she raised her knee
In the silver lunar beam

Her white robe,
Slid in fragile wisps of silk,
Ridding the milky white skin
Of obstacles
As the lake reflected
The silver orb in the sky
On her alabster feature

She closed her eyes
Her eyelashes brushing her cheeks
Bringing forth the color of
A rose of the softest pink,
On a sun kissed day

Her robe slid down
Lower,
The air was calm,
She twisted her neck
And saw the blazing emerald
Of his eyes.

His hands met her skin
And there was
No more words passing
Only gentle murmurs of
Love entwined