She Sang the Songs...

She sang the songs... he wrote the words;
sweet words of love, in perfect time
to her style... soft words of love;
the lyrics to her Country songs
of love and heartbreak, hope and sadness;
life spread out in flawless rhyme,
but they were really hopes, and dreams
of his...
he knew this, all along.

She wrote songs as well; and, when he read them...
his heart missed a beat;
Beneath the stave, below the notes...
her lyrics, in her childlike hand;
soft words of love, he longed to hear
her say to him...
all whispered, sweet;
now, here they were, before his eyes...
but, accident...
or gently planned?

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poem by Dream Weaver
Added by Poetry Lover
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Are You Really a True Romantic?

I wonder, where have all the True Romantics gone? ... there are, but few
still flowering... still spinning dreams, still weaving words of love so true.
For, when l read a book, or watch a movie... perhaps, read a line
or two of poetry... l know that, somewhere in there, l will find
some bitter, shadowy undertone... perhaps, to spice some ailing plot?
True feelings, it may well reflect...
but True Romantic? ...
l think not.

The True Romantic is a gentle soul... a Literary Unicorn,
existing in a Golden Land, from where the sweet, soft dreams are born;
all spun from strands of pure romance... this bright-eyed hope of love, so fair;
no shadows here, to spoil the magic woven from the heart, with care.
The Unicorn is, but a dream... in myth, beyond our sight... far lost;
but, lose the True Romantic... lose the dream;
is this, then worth the cost?

Perhaps, it is that we have wandered from the path, in modern days;
perhaps, it is not now correct... politically, to trace the ways
the great Romantics, down the ages weaved their bright and shining dreams,

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poem by Dream Weaver
Added by Poetry Lover
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