It was a flower, perished It was a desire, demised It was a chance, missed It was a take, lost
If the moment was cherished If the words were spoken If he had his ego accost If she had her passion gust
Maybe their path could have crossed!
2 comments:
Anonymous
said...
The blond in Boston, for her the world was made She was quite pretty; nothing like a Mexican maid Her beauty was everlasting; no it would never fade She didn’t care to cook; all her dinners were prepaid In the eves by her window, you could hear the serenade
2 comments:
The blond in Boston, for her the world was made
She was quite pretty; nothing like a Mexican maid
Her beauty was everlasting; no it would never fade
She didn’t care to cook; all her dinners were prepaid
In the eves by her window, you could hear the serenade
Like a feather light she was
Cause of my delight she was
By my side that night she was
Quite witty and bright she was
My true love but unaware she was
Ripe, akin to a golden pear she was
Like a black swan quite rare she was
Sweetest scent, an exotic flair she was
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