Wednesday, 18 April 2018

Coming of age

And when mid April’s second wind,
sends the skirts of Summer reeling,
we nearly see, o, we nearly see,
the colour of her knickers teasing,
as in the blush of youth she blossoms,
as in the flush of youth she whispers,
my love, my love, sleep inside of me my love,
until we wake, until we take,
one long, last harvest kiss.

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