She loves the smell of flowers
That spring brings to the air
She longs for summer walks
Free of grief, and great despair.
She longs to feel the warmth of sun
So gently on her face…
As she strolls along the cobblestones,
In some quiet little place.
Perhaps a street in Italy
With its painted frescoed walls…
Where gondoliers sing softly
Of love that lingers on
Oh, but spring in gay Paris
For amour it fills the air
As wild Irises, and lilies
Adorn the streets and fairs
But in truth where she would like to be
Is a place where love can grow
Without life’s stain of cruelty
In a world where she belongs.
Antony King 2018
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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Thank you so very much.
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So relatable. Poignant words!
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