deepundergroundpoetry.com

He Owns the Sun

Her sweetness is the purest kind
Organic, filled with tranquil thought
With beauty far within her mind
Could not be sold, nor love be bought

In calm and confident array
She wins the winds from winter's way
She springs the summer sun to stay
And warms the heart; a better day

She brings to mind a subtle ingenuity;
A lovely gratuity

Who knows her? Who finds her?

A king holds his maid and begs;
Aye, begs! He is poor
As love beats upon his door

In her arms, he who owns all
Owns none
And he who owns none
In her arms, owns the sun
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