A touch of class
Swans turn, and follow us.
Soft raindrops fall on treetops
and grass blades dance.
This day is filled with many hues,
but what I see clearest is you.
The swan whispers,
Come home with me.
Let me sprinkle you with
fragrant rose petals, and
cover you with the oil of jasmine
...a flame must have fuel.
Lie down with me as in those days,
those days of swans and lilacs.
Let us drink again of poets wine,
and dance the spiral dance
in the soft southern breeze.
“Grow old along with me,
The best is yet to be….”*