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I am a great admirer of English poetry from the time of Chaucer up until the middle of the twentieth century when it appeared to lose its way. I love all aspects of this planet but are sometimes sad when I think of what we are doing to it.

Wednesday, 8 May 2019

My Muse With The Soft Brown Hair


How I wish that I were there
where laughter reigns through dark and light
with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Long are the kisses we would share
in torrid day or star strewn night.
Oh, how I wish that I were there!

Rich are the joys for those who’d dare
to spread their wings in love’s swift flight
with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Her smile can make the storm seem fair;
Her lips bring joy that’s lightening bright.
Oh, how I wish that I were there!

In life’s grey paths of aching care
my thoughts soar skyward, height on height
with my muse of the soft brown hair.

Grey are these days with dark despair
and pains that grow like a creeping blight.
Oh, how I wish that I were there
With my muse of the soft brown hair!

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