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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