I yearn to whisper yes to you under a tree somewhere in the old south under a willow tree perhaps who’s tears drift slowly cleanly layering my hair in green and you with scarlet eyes sunset lit would sing to me a deep and true melody a sigh that lingers against the hair touch of tribute to the curve that bares the loving night a harp would be in cicada concert with my breathe and stars would peek and moonlight linger soft against the alabaster thigh of forever for I yearn for you to close you into my warmth to whisper yes somewhere under a tree in the old south
In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings)
Martie, for not having been to the South, you've certainly captured the feeling of a romantic Southern night, from the cicadas to the sunset. The physical and emotional allure this lovely piece implies tugs at the reader's mind. Liked it very much!