Five-thirty on our green-grass hill
Saturday dusk lingering across your lips
The softness of your hands in my hair
I would give everything to be there.
China-blue sky and purple-black shadows
Moonlit twilight descending into your eyes
The copper sun drops below the deep lake
I take your hand to trace the shimmering wake.
This is my pure-water elixir;
Tinged with melancholy rose and purple hues
Gleaming hints on the clouds begun to fray,
Love breaks over the ebbing day. |