Remembrance of Things Past

[Am I A Poet?]

Edit #1

It's bliss to kiss her lips like this;
to kiss these lips is bliss.
The dangerous hint
of her scarlet tint,
in vernal days, I miss.

With her winks and her smiles
she enthrals and beguiles;
she ensnares with those winks and those smiles.
On the days when I dream,
by a turbulent stream,
I pretend she'll be mine 'til I die.

But she dances and flirts;
with her lies she hurts:
she hurts with her dances and flirts.
Her devil-red tint left so many hints
that our kiss would never return.


I miss the bliss of that distant kiss;
to kiss those lips was bliss.
But why would you choose to love and to lose
when to lose is as sore as this?


Original

It's bliss to kiss her lips like this;
to kiss these lips is bliss.
The dangerous hint of her scarlet tint,
in these vernal days, I miss.

With her winks and her smiles she enthrals and beguiles;
she ensnares with those winks and those smiles.
In the days when I dream, by a turbulent stream,
I pretend she'll be mine 'til I die.

But she dances and flirts; with her lies she hurts:
she hurts with her dances and flirts.
Her devil-red tint left so many hints
that our kiss would never return.


I miss the bliss of that distant kiss;
to kiss those lips was bliss.
But why would you chose to love and to lose
when the loss is so sore as this?