not love I offer
Your quick limbs, your eyes;
Only the barren homage
Of an old man whom time
Crucifies. Take my hand
A moment in the dance,
Ignoring its sly pressure,
The dry rut of age,
And lead me under the boughs
Of innocence. Let me smell
My youth again in your hair.
The Dance
Ronald Stuart Thomas
(1)
Poem topics: dance, hair, innocence, time, moment, offer, smell, youth, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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