My Love~by Norman Wilson

 

 

My Love

 

I saw her standing on the terrace
Talking to herself
Not loud
Which I could barely make out
For gentle were her words
Just mumbling antiquely about
As her soft ginger hair
Blew so vividly
In a mildly of our night
Under a crimson stretch of open air
Lending an act of kindness
Sensitive to her final shout
Towards the landscaped gorge
Vetted In the honeysuckle rose
Hidden by the shadows
Down below the long balcony
Where she statuesquely perched about
Yelling two words that echoed
So strongly out
“My Love”
Before she jumped
Taking her final step
For her man, that I knew nothing about

All rights reserved 12/26/15
Norman Francis