Wednesday, December 29, 2004

5. Gold Ring

Your golden hair
calls my name;
your soft silver voice
follows after.
Then there is your heart.

Ah! I wish I had the art
to paint this matter,
but that tender soul is no toy
caught by a rhymer's frame.
It's a dove of the air.

O bless that heart as it soars,
and the hearth wherein it dwells, forevermore.

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