Her life is beautiful, it’s about writing
It’s a journal of unchallenged portrayal,
Writing her world of beauty and culture,
Of hope and despair, and her travels,
They are entrancing.
Her fault is they are real fairy tales
Stories of warmth and intimacy,
Non fiction sighs in the morning light,
Poetry’s reflection of the setting sun
The light in her lover’s blue eyes.
She is just a poet and she writes
For him, it’s love in a journal,
Turning her poetry into song,
And songs into sweet poetry,
Then he sings to her his love,
Woven in the disorder of life.
It’s a journal of sun kissed leaves
Of falling trees, castles in the air,
The wind rustled in her hair,
With all her photos and memories
All these treasures are written,
And pasted in there for keeps.