Poem about person where only E-mail contact is made–Where the dream is so perfect and the real could only damage the vision.
She stood alone in quaint Gazbo
Soft and sillohette
With the modest body of silver shadow
Of embroidered moonlight
And came on like a summer flower.
She wore a sun dress
Like a white-water fountain:
The vivid colors of see-thru visage
And orange.
Softly along her thin, tender back–
You could see a long green-grass meadow,
Bluegrass in sound and hick,
Some remote place
Of Time and Space and Silence,
Fresh and firm like stallions
And hear in Spring
The small yellow flowers sing
Smell to ear in honeysuckle thought.
Gentle white clouds hold up the blue sky
And in the dangling distance–
You could see black and white mountains–
Plenty of mountains!
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