Sun-brazed and dew-sparkling
As an armoured knight with hilted sword.
One glance beholds the shining pink hue
Nestled among those of peach and mauve. Selfishly possessing both beauty and spirit,
Running, breathless, I crouch
To this stranger amidst the bed
Pressing close and almost crushing
Soft-petaled, rose scented lips.
By: Frances Jean Gildersleeve-Beaupre'