Her sweet breath fell warm and soft
like a gentle prairie breeze
wafting the scent of wild rose,
delicate, but mostly wild.
Her mane, red and dangerous,
sometimes concealed then revealed
chameleon-like features,
an emotional rainbow.
Her full lips would pout or smile
like a sudden summer storm —
thunder, lightning then sunshine,
frighteningly beautiful.
Temperament like a mustang,
skittish, demanding patience,
or she would bolt for the wild.
Gentleness would subdue her.
For a while she could be held,
raging passion directed,
hunger could be satisfied
briefly, then she would be gone.
I would not hope to contain
or to harness the wildness.
For me she will always be
my sweet, delicate, wild rose.
Image: http://ow.ly/RwWGL
Read about my friends here http://buff.ly/1wyjiKS
This made me remember my first love. Thank you.
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She wasn’t my first love, but I knew her when I was in my teens. She dumped me for a guy who played saxophone in a band.
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Beautiful poetry my friend!
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Thanks, Matthew.
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Exquisite
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Thank you, I love your poetry as well.
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Gratitude 🙂
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This is beautiful!
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Thanks, Matt.
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Great!!
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Thanks, Noorain.
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Most welcome Dennis!! Your posts are always so meaningful.👍🏻
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“Her mane, red and dangerous,” a very enticing line. Well done.
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Thank you very much.
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Love this♥️
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Thank you.
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Beautifully use of words.
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Thank you.
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