Poezie
She-Troubadour
1 min lectură·
Mediu
I’m in a wondrous maze each time I see you pass,
An alien to my infatuation,
A proud non-observant.
In all my lack of hopes, I’m almost just a man
A minstrel, how foolish, to make of you my lady
Someone to dream of, someone to try to lure.
There’s so much solitude and wisdom in your hazel eyes,
Despite the cheerful echoes in your voice, telling us
Who you’re supposed to be
However, the innocence your skin denies
Is there to make us love you, to make us all unworthy of you
A creature of thought, a creature of light
Seeking his gold in hairs of maidens,
In blue Ophelias, who’ve come to know some pain,
But not the nonsense
Their grace in swimming shames me,
And sends me into exile.
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