Renaissance Man

By Natasha Gracious

Toiled all day and weary by night,

I take myself to bed turning off the light.

Then begins a voyage of my mind,

My thoughts take a pilgrimage of your sight.

I can't stop imagining your beauteous self,

You smell of old books on a wooden shelf.

I lay looking into the dark by the bedside,

My eyelids drooping, yet open wide.

Can I compare you to three winters cold,

You, O' dear one, will never get old.

Are you three springs of marigold,

Or three autumns shone with leaves of gold.

Your allure's traversed all space and span,

I behold it encompasses the Bible and Quran.

I sense you’re an art from the Baroque clan,

Or were you born as my Renaissance Man...

By Natasha Gracious