A muse once told me of joy and pleasure,
Of beautiful things beyond all measure.
She spoke of trees whose leaves would never fade,
And daffodils that grew in every glade.
The mountains were purple and the oceans were blue;
The sunsets were orange–of a beautiful hue.
The clouds were not dark and ne’er did it rain,
And lovers were happy; they never knew pain.
All of these words, though spoken so fair,
Were naught but a trifle–a waste of good air;
For flowers and trees, though beauty possess,
Will never compare to your warm caress,
And mountains and sunsets, though rich in their hue,
Can never embezzle my love for you.
Copyright ©1985 Joseph G. Merrell III
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