Passion

 

Passion rises from the East

to dress the dawn in a shroud of gold.

She blushes in a monochromatic sky

contrasting the hues of blue above her eyes.

“Hold my hand,” he says, “with your warm rays.”

She responds, “By dusk and dove’s flight

bring a red rose into the West Garden

and I will place my fiery fingers

inside your cumulus silhouette.”

“Surely, I cannot send you just one,” he says,

“But fields of flowers to adorn your radiant red hair.

Legions of doves will awaken the day

to bring a gay glimpse of your passion.”

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Chester Delagneau


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