It has been nine summers since she has been gone; still, her widower cries for her. She was the sunrise of many summers. The glorious bloom of spring flowers. Her kisses were a comfort in the late hours. Beauty and serenity flowed in the narrative of her whispers. She was an angelic warmth in the winter. Love moved like a river within her. Her physical beauty matched the essence of her ethereal nature. In the room she slept he aura still lingers. The one that she immensely loved still wears the symbol of his love for her on his finger. He holds the frame that holds her last picture, his soul reaching for her, he lovingly whispers, Lucia.
Intimate Compositions 