PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Out of this clime I must go
To find my one, true love:
Her beauty fair, always aglow,
Her heart the whitest of snow.

Her limbs light, gentle, genteel,
Her skin of pale, northern sight,
The kind a wandering eye in Kiel
Would spy with amorous delight.

Oh, what I'd give for the chance
To run fingers 'cross reddish lace,
To be lulled by blue-eyed glance,
To kiss again that freckled face.

But in this art-foresaken state
'Tis only in dreams to caress
The fresh femininity of her gait,
To feel her ache beneath her dress.

For 'tis here have I never met,
One of such charm and courtesy
In this place I'd soon rather forget;
This clime, friend only to melancholy.