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THE WITCH OF HIS DREAMS
She comes to him at midnight,
The Witch of his Dreams,
Her eyes a forest green,
Her hair, dark and long,
Her voice, a sweet magic,
Calling out his name,
He could not help but watch her,
Dance among the flowers,
Beneath a waxing moon,
She whirls and cast her spells,
Upon him,
A haunting chant she sings,
And soars into his soul,
On gossamer wings,
She whispers things he longs to hear,
Of secret longings in his ear,
She enchants him with delights,
Though she must fly into the night,
She tells him of her love,
And casts her spell upon him,
To love him evermore,
She steals his heart forever,
Though never shall she return,
For she was only ever,
The Witch of His Dreams.
By K D Dowdall
@copyright
This is beautiful!
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Thank you so much! K D π
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Charles, thank you so much and I am so happy that you like it. The end of the poem, tells the reader that the Witch of His Dreams, is “but a dream”, to sort of paraphrase Shakespeare. K D π
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Excellent, Karen. So beautifully written.
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Jennie, thank you so much and I am so happy that you like it. The end of the poem, tells the reader that the Witch of His Dreams, is “but a dream”, to paraphrase Shakespeare.. Karen π
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Thank you, Karen. π
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I agree! Karen . Great read
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Shareen, thank you so much and I am glad you like it! Karen π
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Reblogged this on O LADO ESCURO DA LUA.
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Anisioluiz, Thank you so much and I am so glad you like it! π Karen
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