His
gaze, to gold, passes comparison.
His
eyes, at laughter, arrest in silence;
They're
like nickels, on the beach, that sparkle
In the
light of the warm afternoon sun,
And when
he speaks, his manners are gentle
For he
is wise beyond his age and true...
And his
heart? His heart is of magnetite,
To point
always toward that constant star,
To point
always toward that star up north.
Hope,
set my heart to where the dippers dwell.
My heart
shall then point toward north as well,
But my
heart might skip a beat when we meet,
Toppling
over toward a different feat--
Hope,
bring us heart to heart to attraction...
No comments:
Post a Comment