Autumn girl
Youv heard of summer girls
there golden curls
always laughing with short skirts
smelling of humid magnolia nights
but I found something better
Wandering in the park
Mid October chill making me shiver
but the final quiver was not from cold
Underneath a wide old oak
the breeze stirred her hair
Are those colors real?
The flame fanned out down a perfect shape
rustic embers of red, orange hued perfection
her mane ablaze in the treacle sun
I approached slowly, I didn't want the vision to disappear
I held my camera in hand, wanting to preserve this sight
Quivering hands I lift it up, as I do she turns around
My Tawney eyed Lioness
The fierce golden stare matched by a pale rose pout
“You only have to ask...”
Her voice carried to me by a chilled gust
I take her small hand in mine
cashmere coral gloves, do they hide claws?
I lay her down on the autumn canvas
I swear the world stops as she blends into the leaves
they fall into her hair and become one with it
I can smell that dried decay.....
when did my heart start beating this fast
I lift the camera and she growls gently
stretching on the leaf littered ground
wrapped in deep mahogany knit wear
and black leather boots
that sinuous body arches
Flash............flash
Will the photos show her?
Or will I be left with nothing but leaves.
I snap away, hoping to catch a glimpse of that elusive soul
To keep it and remind me of these days
1st of December dawns
I ache to the bone with cold
Outside my window an ice perfect blanket formed
The weakened sun sparkles gently like crystal
My legs carry me to the park, but I don't remember the walk
I know before I get there, she is gone
Her seasons ended, the arctic mistress returned
I look at the pictures and still feel my heart jump
Warmned to the core with her flaming hair
there golden curls
always laughing with short skirts
smelling of humid magnolia nights
but I found something better
Wandering in the park
Mid October chill making me shiver
but the final quiver was not from cold
Underneath a wide old oak
the breeze stirred her hair
Are those colors real?
The flame fanned out down a perfect shape
rustic embers of red, orange hued perfection
her mane ablaze in the treacle sun
I approached slowly, I didn't want the vision to disappear
I held my camera in hand, wanting to preserve this sight
Quivering hands I lift it up, as I do she turns around
My Tawney eyed Lioness
The fierce golden stare matched by a pale rose pout
“You only have to ask...”
Her voice carried to me by a chilled gust
I take her small hand in mine
cashmere coral gloves, do they hide claws?
I lay her down on the autumn canvas
I swear the world stops as she blends into the leaves
they fall into her hair and become one with it
I can smell that dried decay.....
when did my heart start beating this fast
I lift the camera and she growls gently
stretching on the leaf littered ground
wrapped in deep mahogany knit wear
and black leather boots
that sinuous body arches
Flash............flash
Will the photos show her?
Or will I be left with nothing but leaves.
I snap away, hoping to catch a glimpse of that elusive soul
To keep it and remind me of these days
1st of December dawns
I ache to the bone with cold
Outside my window an ice perfect blanket formed
The weakened sun sparkles gently like crystal
My legs carry me to the park, but I don't remember the walk
I know before I get there, she is gone
Her seasons ended, the arctic mistress returned
I look at the pictures and still feel my heart jump
Warmned to the core with her flaming hair