Summer Love
Summer Love.
Her skirt white as silk billowed in the breeze
of fragrance, costly as the boats in the bay,
danced passed me a zephyr of summer love.
Sky blue eyes looked beyond me and far;
a ripple of contented laughter followed her.
She wore an exquisite aroma of splendour,
the holy who don´t know the price of bread.
So white her smile, so red her lips.
She entered a Lamborghini, golden tanned its
driver was, and she was hit by arrows of love
She sat in her room, her dress crumbled, tears
ran down her rosy chin, she, a seamstress with
a borrowed dress, had flown too near the sun,
a butterfly with broken wings and lost illusion.
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