Lorna

Ever inspired and fascinated with the (unobtainable?) idealogical, we fall in love, again and again, and drive away our dreams with despotism.

Oh Lorna,
How I yearn for you
as I cross glistening grass
fields full of dew.
A flower; a rose,
I pick for you,
pink as the day an infant's new
or, the sun drenched yellow
would also do.
My mind records what the eye
sees, true;
it could never really fulfil
as the real is beau
nor a thought excite
as well as a view
but a dream makes one serene
in a world that fully fatigues,
so when I'm weary,
I think of you
and I am soothed,
and Lorna;
O! I am not so forlorn
but only when you are not
in my arms
and even then,
it is only because
should I be with you
I should receive all your charms;
your grace, your smile,
your warmness of touch
and the severe beauty
that's as a light to your face
and forever, as always,
has me crying your name.