Rye Fields & Snowdrifts
She has all the whispers of a morning,
Clothed in fog; wet with drenching's of fallen dew.
Whilst my perspiring body lisp's on a gallows tree
Sometimes-above sometimes-below she…
I am her Eden's fantasy she says—O' I'll probe!
I'll bite! When; rye fields glow all around me.
When; apple blossom orchards,
Descend like snowdrifts, deeply to enfold me.
In his arms in his rye fields and snowdrifts,
There surely you'll also, find me!
Cold to all other suitors, now till eternity.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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