Sands

This I tried long before in a chilly day. There was a rose on my way, incited me to settle down my eyes. Took a rest in beauty and exhaled my stress out. Breathed life under her spell and synchronized my steps with my worn out eloquence. A poem was left as remains of a bruised heart which was healed.

Who's going to be the one
who steps on this white sand
who remains that white
that virgins cross away his way.
Who's to water Thee
my Spanish heavenly rose
if I knew it would be me
any winter, either any thing
could made Thee fade away.
God may one day let appear
my dearest sweetest thing
and take with Thee heaven on Earth,
and give within a punch of rendered arms.

Do not play the hiding game
do not make too long the wait
it is nonsense to refuse
not even time, do not flee
confess to the sea
it is me, the one who's to step
after words I will not only leave,
my foot print on your sands,
my body print
which the sea would wash away
sands we are, Thee and me.