A CARRIAGE RIDE

On a moss covered bridge, made of ivy clad stone
Our regal carriage passes slowly by
As hand in hand, we ride alone
Through the soft silhouettes of the emerald park;
You're gaze instills within my heart a sigh,
For your eyes are lovely, deep and dark.

On the flesh of you're lips, a symphony
Plays; It is perfumed and pure, and seems to sing,
Gleaming in a boon of true felicity
Which flows like a brook, mystic, of the spring.
And while you're kiss makes us one, the solemn, silver sea
Rolls far outside our window, beyond the greenery.

JOHN LARS ZWERENZ