I called her my Sarah of the sunlit sea.
She was a woman of seductive mystery,
an enchanting child of the morning light,
a poem in living color, a midnight dream,
that always danced me through the night.
My world turned on her finger,
and a ring of gold bound us together,
and her name was written in the wind
with purple smoke and a burnished flame,
and I knew if she ever left me
my life would never be the same.
We danced to the end of time and back again
to the music of a violin played by a drummer
whose drumsticks were made from willow,
and whose mind was filled with madness,
and his songs were made from words
that no one could ever understand.
His fingers were gnarled and broken
so the music was just a token
of what it could have, should have been
just like things we would never have
or know, in our tomorrows dream.
She didn’t mind that things weren’t perfect,
because we lived beneath a rainbow,
where the snow was white, and sparkling
like the diamonds on her fingers,
like emeralds in the morning light,
like a dew drop on a red, red rose
and the smoke from our fireplace
always smelled like lilacs,
and the embers on the hearth always glowed,
and her smile always touched my very soul.
When she caressed me with her fingers
she sent shivers flooding through me,
and our hearts beat out our love story,
as we danced through the moments of our life.
The purple smoke has vanished in the mist
and time has dulled the burnished flame,
but her name still lingers in the midnights
and her face is still vision of my memory,
and until the end of time, her picture will hang
upon the hallways and corridors of my mind.