Her golden curls untouched by sharpened shears
Under the willow tree in groups of thirds
Children whisper dreams in curious ears.
Her lean body glowed with peach complexion.
She stared into the eyes of her lover.
She had longed for virtuous affection
Finally true, she saw he would love her.
She was watching her now, her young child.
She then looked to her husband- in his trance.
She watched his hands and craved his touch so mil’d.
She longed to be fit for a final dance.
The old, frail woman looked to her husband.
She craved his stare- he only gave a glance
He saw her grief then asked for her hand
He warned her kindly of life's final chance
Though velvet skin decays and plump lips crust
Your soul's beauty fuels my eternal lust.
-Iris
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