#3
I want to be the tissue for your tears
That emanate from bright lakes of your eyes
And run through peachy cheeks, though never fears
But happy loving should they advertise.
I`d like to be a frying-pan which handle
Is vouchsafed to kiss your tender hand;
Or, maybe, shall I turn into a candle
And burn for you until the very end.
But how much happier I would have been
If you permitted me to be myself
And let me naturally worship thee
Despite you were a child of burning Hell.
But`f course you aren`t that, `cause in Heaven you were born
And angel`s wings and golden halo thee adorn.
5/12/01
No. 3
© Copyright: Джордж Мэйсон, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115091007643
Свидетельство о публикации №115091007643
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