She used to sit on that park bench
Under the purple colored cherry tree
And when the zephyrs smiled at her,
Her hair smelled of perfumed petals.
She used to have a special liking for saraband;
With her slow steps danced the edge of her red petticoat.
The winking champagne in her hand
Sent bevy of bubbles to kiss her virgin lips.
Necropolis is her new abode.
She has an ocassional liking for sarcophagus;
Who can tell salad days won't resurrect again?
Only to fall asleep by lullabies of the tears of the moon.
Under the purple colored cherry tree
And when the zephyrs smiled at her,
Her hair smelled of perfumed petals.
She used to have a special liking for saraband;
With her slow steps danced the edge of her red petticoat.
The winking champagne in her hand
Sent bevy of bubbles to kiss her virgin lips.
Necropolis is her new abode.
She has an ocassional liking for sarcophagus;
Who can tell salad days won't resurrect again?
Only to fall asleep by lullabies of the tears of the moon.
-The Shepherdess.
(painting-paul gauguin-the loss of virginity)
1 comment:
Love as in my naive perception aquires fragrance in the lashing of emotions...zephyrs..i wonder how gentle it is..her lips hav always been virgin and will always be one ...'coz they r inconceivable for fibres of erstwhile cravings..lovely usage of metaphors...almost words of experience...yet stoic..much to the dismay of lovers...silver lining..
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