After Our Walk Amid The Reeds

Poem By John Lars Zwerenz

The breeze is cool,
But it does not bite.
The world regarded us each a fool,
But there is no longer a reason to be contrite.
Let us stroll beneath the crimson blooms
Which laugh above the brooks of white.
And after our walk amid the reeds,
Let us retire to our palatial rooms,
Among our busts and vases;
Let us look out our grand bay window,
To where swirling siroccos softly blow,
Out upon the moonlit meads.
There, surrounded by fine tapestries,
And the most majestic, eternal art,
In between our lips' bated pauses,
We shall witness blue jays ascend in ecstasies,
As they flutter and dart
To the immaculate seas.
I have waited for this moment all of my life
To possess you as a woman, more than a wife.
For as angels in a crystal palace we dwell-
In the boon of heaven's citadel.

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