Thursday, September 14, 2006
running hard, but not feeling anything,
towards a pretty, peaceful, loving place.
where trees of pine stand with quiet strength,
where a cottage on the still lake is the human face.
there on the bridge, charming and old,
stood my love who was waving at me.
she decided against collecting flowers,
so we'll just sit right there and sing.
in our tired voices we serenade,
cheesy love songs from so far away.
we've been up all night my dear,
but your voice keeps sleep at bay.
as the birds try to keep pace,
the scene was of oneness and glee.
smiling with its wrinkled brown eyes
was the biggest, oldest tree.
our laughs pierce the morning silence,
as we go off-key.
but nothing could mar a beautiful morning,
the cottage, the tree, my love and me.
and father time did go to rest,
the moment your lips danced around mine.
there was no distance between us on the cottage floor so sacred,
and we bathed in the gold rays of dawn uninhibited and naked.
running on alone and not feeling anything,
towards a pretty, peaceful, loving place.
where trees of pine stand with quiet strength,
where a cottage on the still lake is the human face.
where all things could be new again,
and i could tell you what i've always meant.
where the picture would finally be complete;
the picture of the cottage, the tree, my love and me.
