With the sun painting sunsets in his eyes,
his figure as tall as trees made keen shade.
Parted lips, were hues of red at first light.
Hands as soft as picnic blankets, homemade.
Smiling wider than children with their ice cream.
His voice so pleasing, birds cannot compare.
Combined with the scent of cologne, I gleam,
for he and I could be the perfect pair.
With a twisted soul clouding the moonlight,
reeking the stench of the saloon nearby.
His eyes now pitch black as the lonely night,
slurring cold careless words oh my, goodbye.
For the sun may be up and shining bright,
one shall not forget the unnoticed night.
James Bowie High School
12