Red plaid flannel shirt, faded, stained bluejeans. . . .
blue eyes lit with autumn's gold . . . .
Happiness cannot be defined -- at least
not that found with simple times,
or quiet hours that beckon not
nor leave the soul with any want.
And even though I can't define it,
It seems as though I cannot hide it
For, more filling than these words might write,
You fill my needs' appetite.
And more warm than your flannel and jeans,
My heart is when I'm deep in dream of you.
[This message has been edited by iliana (12-20-2003 04:48 AM).]