Harvest Love
Across fields of golden grain I see her
walking, or marching, down this aisle of Fate.
Gracefully she moves as a timeless specter
or some ethereal beauty yet unseen.
Her scarlet dress dances under harvest moon
as I sing to her whispers of endless song;
Those amber strands anoint her supple face,
deservingly crowning her august head.
My arms yearn to touch her tender hands
and my legs itch to drag me to her feet.
My heart dreams to simply watch her smile
and to gaze endlessly in those cerise eyes.
Yet, I remain motionless and silent;
my limbs imprisoned by some insidious fate;
my voice stricken by some soulless warden.
The crows overhead mock my imposition.
