The Face
Eight years old
With crayons in the fold
I drew this face
My intuition would mold
With baby blues
And auburn hair too
I drew this face
Too perfect to be true
I drew
The face
Throughout my life
And the quiet times at night
I think of the face
A haunting delight
I’ve been in pursuit
Of this beauty absolute
I think of the face
A longing salute
I pursue
Then one day
I’d part the Milky Way
I saw the face
Pure beauty conveyed
With baby blues
And auburn hair too
I saw the face
Too perfect to be true
With baby blues
And auburn hair too
Together we face
Life too perfect to be true |