The Thought of Thee
These places in which love doth flare,
By fireside, warm scented air;
Are places where at peace I be
Consumed, but by the thought of thee.
A chiffon frill of moonlit lace
Veils silver on your catwalk face;
This moment in which peace I see
Exists, but by the thought of thee.
Sweet moments spent in silent praise,
By firelight, in winter’s haze;
Are moments in which peace I see
Consumed, but by the thought of thee.
by: John Woods
21st February 2002
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