Quince
Blue eyes, lovers' cries,
green valleys, desolate alleys,
raindrops softly trickle making ripples
across the still pools, pools of thought.
Each moment finding one sweet caress.
The rivers of a heart flow closer to the lives joined
and dripping in the morning ,
as the endless night is finally closed,
living into the time unfolding towards time's next caress .
Smiling sparkles in your eyes, a glistening
look, it loves, so again we stay.
P. J. Campise
