She’s not pretty. She’s beautiful.
She’s got a faraway look in her eye
that tells the story of a pale green moon that rises
over shadowy plains and darkened canyons .
You feel the distance as you walk beside her;
you hold her hand when she’s not there.
She whispers to you in your dreams
of secret places where lovers stare
into starry skies on cloudless nights
and wonder if the world will remember…
she walks in beauty.


About michaelpoetry

I was born in Labrador (Happy Valley, to be exact ... isn't that a great place to be from?)
This entry was posted in Love Poems and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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