Before Me

 

Many a poets have described 

This memory of a reflected crimson escaping eyes 

And bouncing off a breezy silk

I couldn't tell more

The difference of a sunset and those eyes

But why should I

They have far too much of it.

If you would listen, 

I know of this lush cave 

With forgotten English ivy 

Suspended like a fragile twine 

But mistrust me less

I have never dwelled more.

And you see this turquoise water 

A stranger once wrote

'Turquiose is a sadder blue'

But,

Did he ever see this?

Woe to woo.

But I might be unjust 

To this fairness I graced 

My eyes might have betrayed 

Hitherto this beauty

You could see more.

》Before Me