They can’t tell the need for your touch
They can’t speak it just as stuttering Dutch
An impossible story was written by an infinite imagination
The improbable moment is given by Gods only donation
Your beauty is not bested even by mythic Greek seas
So gentle to me as flows a summertime breeze
A gem gifted and given by the men that dictate mountains
A world created by French gardens enclosing fountains
I count the days like nails in a pack of cigarettes.
But proud I stand knowing I’m absent of any regrets