The Colonel, leaning on an old oak, with closed eyes, let his thoughts to search in the world of wonders for her, because he can't believe an old soldier can be so happy just remembering the fragance of her whispers in his ears...

My dear, dear Southern Belle



Ethereal melancholy, flying with abandon,
it doesn’t care but to fly, to reach beyond
the frontiers where the heart feels the pain
of that fragile gossamer you called love
that can be shatter with a rejection gesture
or just by ignoring it was there for you.

Ethereal tenderness, clouds in your skies,
by so many capricious winds were flown
with softly twisting dancing on the beach
of building itself stronger with a storm,
caressing fingers, exploring butterflies,
Rembrandt cherubs, sent by a busy Amor.

Ethereal times, hours turn into little seconds
melting in the waters and with the river gone,
remembrances of unforgettable moments
when to my cold lips, hers offered warmth,
my head on her lap, the feminine essence,
it was time for all my wanderings to stop.

Ethereal blessings, that only He can provide,
drifting little pieces on a shipwrecked world
we are like innocent and colorful butterflies
that on a spider’s fine cobweb got caught;
fondness, dissipating like smoke when touch
tell the naked skin the fingers proximity, love.

Ethereal we two are, kept apart by cruel fate,
and yet, so together like two bodies, one soul,
closed eyes, walking under magnolia’s alleys,
lovers by the river exploring all night long
because with morning the spell will be broken
an only time for a last kiss and then…adieu.


Your Colonel