When she was but nineteen,
My Love was fairest fair,
Her flesh so white and lean
Was mine alone to share,
Her legs I lay between,
My hands caressed her hair,
And life for me was sweet and wonderful.
When came her twentieth year,
My Love was quite divine,
No crystal chandelier
Nor star did brighter shine,
And how did I revere
The day she said - I’m thine!
To think I’d won a gem so beautiful.
When she was twenty-one
She must have truly been
A creature ’neath the Sun
Most beauteous ever seen,
And now she’s twenty-two,
Matured and in full bloom.
She’ll be more fine and true
Than any Rose of June,
But I can only guess
How beautiful she be,
Because my Love’s caress
Belongs no more to me,
And I shed a tear,
For ’tis more than a year
Since her beauty did I see;
And life for me is sour, and sorrowful.
[This one was written from the heart in 1985.]
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