- Books, Literature, and Writing
Blue-Eyed, My Girl
I never walk through unmolested snow
new-fallen, fresh and smooth
I drag my load through every perfect part
in violent sprint
Looking back I seem to see her heart
I look back only once and don't return;
It's to return, of course, that my heart yearns.
I hate the path, so servile to my use
Made not by human hand but underfoot
with loving tread and course
I've little but disdain for swollen words.
I do not see her careful steps
I do not hear her softed breath
I cannot sense her welcome scent
I looked back only once - I don't return.
The snow is falling by her hand
The path is meeting her demand
A thoughtless step - I'm falling by her hand
Oh, to remember falling by her hand!
This bliss in resting, fallen by her hand.