Twas wonderfull you who spoke to me in
dream so real,assaging voice carressed
my soul,you bade me to come to you on
stead pure.My satin shirt billowed in
morns crisp breeze.
Fair nightingale sings trill sweet song,her mate
swoons in highest bows of sycamore tree.
Lavender shy breaks over glade,dew
kissed rose petals awash in morns first
My sences perked by intuitions might,
my journeys closed Ive arrived to your
side.Succulent your lips I taste,
finest silk seems coarser still than your
luscious locks casscading oe'r your
Supple,ample my beloveds breast,a
tear escapes upon my cheek,joy let
loose for you to see,lye with me in
poppies row,we give freely of ourselves
tenderly,never should I wander way
lest angels call my name.

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