My waiting heart was warmed by the fire in her eyes
Unaware of its depth, in she carelessly waded
With all my treasure laid before her, unaware was I
That what warmed was the reflections of my own passion
Was she the fool for not knowing or I for not recognizing
Neither knew the true nature of the joining
Neither shared anymore than the pleasure
Neither one was less or more after than before
She took nothing more than the moment and I my own passion
And remembrance of the beauty my emotions granted her
© 1997, Tim D. Coulter Sr.