Your lips could color a rose,
your cheeks are like a warm sunset,
your eyes are like snowflakes,
glittering their frosty wake.
The summer is your birth,
warm and cheery,
it fills all life,
it is a running brook of time.
The fall is you growing up,
into the gentleman that you will be,
the winter are the problems,
that you will face with pride.
Now that spring has drawn near,
you are fully reared,
this gentleman that you are,
conquer the bad so I would see no harm.
Copyright 2003. All Rights Reserved.
No comments:
Post a Comment