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Sweet... my little girl.
Inside your eyes
souls are breathing within.
I dive into them, treasuring minds,
of the past willowing.
And their leaves caress the mist,
as your eyelashes caress the light.
heart and womanship.
Humming the songs of fairies,
the butterflies spell my name,
with their wings of pearls.
So that is the magic of words,
when told by a child,
still mute and deaf,
to the reasoning rooms,
where windows are ice,
where doors are passages,
from the new sounds, to the old.
of a child containing eons of hopes,
without a blinking...
the tears emerge washing the faith,
of an eternal demand of Love.
This poem is subjected to @ Copyright Rosa Cobos 2008 . All rights reserved
July 14th, 2012
Viewed 149 Times - Last Visitor from Simi Valley, CA on 04/14/2014 at 12:04 PM