Loyla

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The blowing wind across my face,
taunts me now and leaves a trace,
of the flowing wisps of silken hair
and the beauty of my maiden fair.

Who sends from across the vale,
her scent, thick and strong as ale,
in which she wraps and tightly binds,
a kiss from those forgetful times.

And the soft curves of her back,
reminded by the turns of the track,
with the smoothly undulating path,
rise and fall in a breath’s aftermath.

The times belonging, to a different age
when her thought wasn’t just a mirage
and she turned around out of the blue,
to hug and kiss without much ado.

That touch of breath digs in me a hole,
and then goes deep to find my soul,
and blow on it a whiff of hope,
and step by step climb up the slope.

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