The Hands of My Love

by X of Amphipolis

The hands of the bard have touched me,

and I have been changed, made to see.

Her hands they are slim with tips round,

short nails, soft skin, and profound.

They move as she speaks in her tales,

and my real life experience fails,

to prepare me for how she affects,

my imaginations complex.

She leads me to great inspiration,

as she gives her sweet tales animation.

Just by the wave of her hands,

she takes me to unknown lands.

Then when she sleeps by the fire,

her hands soft at rest do inspire,

my love when I see her breathe soft,

takes my poor aching heart far aloft.

Oh, dear Gabrielle, how I love you,

and for you anything I would do,

I would kiss and caress your whole being,

lay your sweet body there for my seeing.

But I fear me to do such a thing,

though you make my poor heart want to sing,

for your best friend I am, but uncertain,

if for me you would raise your love's curtain.

For if I profess my dear love,

would you fear me and fly like a dove?

Away from me taking my hope?

Far better I just learn to cope.

So I lay here and study your hands,

till sleep brings it's comforting sands,

and another night finally survive,

oh, I'm living... but hardly alive.

You speak, say "Good morning," and smile,

and make all my suffering worth while,

On the road, tell me tales of far lands,

and I listen and watch your sweet hands.

Perhaps tonight camping I'll speak,

let my love of you out for a peek,

but for now I'm content just to bide,

as we walk down the path side by side.

Translated by Bill the Semi Bard © Oct 2001