 | Orchids |  |
26
ON TIPTOE
A long the corridor I heard
Her naked feet come like a bird:
Through hush and darkness far and near
The rustle of her skirts grew clear.
Her naked feet come like a bird:
Through hush and darkness far and near
The rustle of her skirts grew clear.
The door creaked open, closed again:
Her breath fell on my face, and then
Her lips closed on my lips' delight,
Silently in the silent night.
Her breath fell on my face, and then
Her lips closed on my lips' delight,
Silently in the silent night.
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