O' Beauty of All

Morning rise, sweet soft gentle air. Tender lips tremble.

Thy skin so warm, yet burdened by such cold.

Limp my body feel in lack of velvet touch.

The sea she brings, brisk in tangled hair.

Lay swept like steady rock atop o'mountain fair.

Birds do sing, swooning in sunny sky.

Nimble feather carried in calming air.

Floats high as she, bind thy heart her spell of love -

lo' her beauty caress thee mortal mind, for she a chantress of lovers be with but little care.

Ah but see the depths of silver-blue. How brute it be, 'pon the golden sand.

He cometh strong, like hardened wood of forest green.

O' lions mane he proudly bear, with fangs doth he wait.

Lamb of feast, thy flesh he tears, aye for that be what lovers do.

He standeth tall, handsome, striking trembling fear.

Grab thy hair, upon thy knees doth he press thy.

O' wonderous beast of mine, celestial dreams thee give.

Tremble skin, filling he doth be.

Screams do shout, lest I lack for air.

Lo beauty chantress' strike. My eyes now blind to all but she.

Such softest skin, warm and that of bliss.

Aye, she eat thee whole.

Hands she takes, to caress her molten soul.

Such sweetened taste thy tongue nought shall feel again.

Juices flow cross the body of ye.

Pinned thee down her doth do,

O' bliss she cry as I give all of me, my naked soul I bear.