Tuesday, March 18, 2014

My gipsy lover

My gipsy lover
Drowsy as a soft flower
Nodding in her howdah
She reluctantly follows her cameleer
Decamped away and the stars is their guider.
As a princess with her maid of honour  
When she kneels to ground
You would smell a good odor
Often she wears a silken head cover
And the jewels being as stars sewn in zipper          
Her cheeks flash and thunder
Like a sky is about to shower
Her tall is as a lofty tower
Magnetic is her slumber
In her eyes, there is a magic power
When she talks to me
When she gazes at me
Her eyes fill up with pleasure
At every hour
She hums as a tuner
Most days of winter
In front of her crimson tent
She often spins her spindle as a spider  
A slim girl of a good temper   
but at summer
She is quiet heroically but sober
And always she goes to the river
To swim and pamper
Whereto would I say?
To whom am I being humorer?