This poem was written for a friend of mine in Scotland. Her name is Imuil and she is fourteen years old. She can write some pretty remarkable poems and stories.
A voice it drifts across the hazy tarnished skies
floating demurely carried by some mystic breeze.
I am struck by those surreal visions of dark eyes
and by that sound no one hears, eyes no one sees.
Oft times come those elusive daydreams or illusions
torn perhaps from some other time, some other place
I am confused not sure if real or maybe delusion
she appears so unexpected, a girl with painted face.
She sings to me of yesterday and lore now forgot
of kings and queens those stories lost along the way.
She tells of wars and glorious battles we have fought
on through the long and dreary hours of another day.
A gentle voice it floats lightly, softly and ever so gently
it kisses my ears with friendship and wonderful things
How it carries across her ancient land and over the sea
arriving here where I listen joyfully as her heart sings.
My dear friend I know you do not look like the girl in this picture, but in my eyes you are as beautiful and regal as she is.
