Your hair is flowing, floating, dancing through the sultry air,
caressing the breeze and leaves that swirl, but not so majestically as
those soft, silky, sensual locks of yours: gold, black or brown.
Nothing can compare to your crowning glory that I rejoice in, through verse.Or song? Would you like me to seranade you as a minstrel?
I long for my fingers to entwine in your long, enticing mane.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this reminds me of andrew marvel's elizabethan methaphysical poems which i love, very Orlado