His hair rustles like autumn leaves.

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His hair rustles like autumn leaves.

His hair rustles like autumn leaves as they play along the ground.

Eyes sparkling like the sun-lit streams he looks around.

He is my quiet cove, his presence fills me with peace,

 

His hands shape the meaning of kindness.

Soul of the sun burning my eyes to blindness.

He is my restoration, his very life gives me pleasure.

 

His voice causes my heart to stir and tremble.

Mouth so sweet, he is always so humble.

He is my dignity, in him I wish to be more.

 

His compassion lights up the night like Venus rising.

Hands so gentle while his touch is ever enticing.

He is my seduction, his words melt my heart.

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Poetry is finer and more philosophical than history; for poetry expresses the universal, and history only the particular.

Aristotle (384 BC-322 BC) Greek philosopher.

Bettybelle’s Poems (11)

Title Comments
Title Comments
All of these.... 0
Peace to you. 0
This is me. 0
Strange that you would smile 0
Mountains Tremble 0
The Memory of You.... 0
His hair rustles like autumn leaves. 0
Silently cries 0
Sands of time 0
In your quiet place... 1
I burn from hunger... 0