Your hair gracing fresh pillows
Like a crown before a coronation,
A summer sun resting through blue skies,
A leaf floating gently down stream,
Your beauty in glimpses,
Occasional smiles,
Your hand on my thigh
As I drift somewhere golden.
French villages high on wine,
Dutch streets slowly winding,
London bars hiding kisses and whispers,
Our heads in the stars as we sway.
I hold you and dream till the sun breaks,
Alive in your arms like the new storms,
In two hours you’ll be gone
And I’ll be left thinking,
This night has been stolen too soon.
Dunstan Carter : Poetry 