S

S

Traditional girl

Believes in love

Loves her family

Likes travelling

Likes hiking

Likes romantic music

S

On a sunny day,

With the wind at her back,

You can see her atop the mountain,

With a pack, full of nuts and berries,

A cool flask in her hand,

Her long black hair,

Snapping in the wind,

Behind her,

She descends the mountain,

To her waiting car,

Her brother,

Sits in the front seat,

Her dad in the back,

Waiting,

Sleeping,

For this beauty to return,

From her days walk.

She climbs into the car,

And gently turns over the engine,

Slowly roaring to a purr,

She’s ascended the mountains

In Nepal,

And surfed the waves in Tsingdao,

She’s flown a plane to Busan,

And she’s taken the train from Beijing,

To Moscow,

Yet, none compare,

To this gentle walk

Up a small hill,

Her family,

Waiting patiently for her to return

Being with her family,

Is not a chore to her,

Being away from them,

Is a pain,

So sharp,

Its like a knife stabbing her heart,

Being near them,

Is like,

Waking every morning,

And her pet dog,

Sensing she’s awake,’

And,
Giving her a giant wet lick,

In the face,

Greeting her,

With, all the love

And affection,

She deserves.

She knows her place,

She knows where she belongs,

Her feet are firmly rooted in the ground,

And her eyes permantly fixed in the skies,

Traditional, is not a word to be used lightly,

Nor, is it as heavy as it seems,

Yet, its her,

Her personality to the T,

She believes in family,

In respecting your roots,

She believes,

That without all this,

She would be lost,

Searching the world,

Like a ghost,

Searching for its way home.

She’s content,

To sit back and relax,

A rose on the table,

A half empty glass of wine

In her hand,

She’s content,

In the company of a good man,

Listening to soft tunes,

Nipping at her ear lobes,

Filling her with sweetness,

Watching the sun become red

Far away on the horizon,

Her thin lips,

Slowly turning up,

She’s content.

Love is such an effusive word,

So many people can say it,

Passing between their lips,

Like water wetting,

A dry mouth,

Yet, so few people can,

Act it,

Breath life,

To a soul,

That is everywhere,

And nowhere,

At the same time,

She yearns,

For that love,

That makes her wake in the morning,

Makes her sleep deeply in her pillow at night,

Makes her dream, so she doesn’t want to wake up,

She yearns,

For that love,

That doesn’t make her whole,

Yet makes her half,

For, when she meets him,

And she will know,

That love isn’t complete,

Unless its shared with another.

She believes,

That this love,

Is somewhere,

Close or far,

That’s not what is important,

She believes,

That she can find,

That right one,

She has been casting her eyes

Wide and far for,

And she believes,

That love will sweep her off her feet,

Her body gently floating like a feather,

Resting in his arms.